The Cycle of Ages: New World Order
by Cap'n Chryssalid
Summary: The End of NWO is here! Echidnapolis and Mobotropolis become battlegrounds while Sonic and Sally fight to reclaim their kingdom from her father's mad grip, Charmy and the Chaotix face off, as a tornado of souls rises to the heavens!
1. And There Was Light I

Disclaimers a' plenty: Alright people, you know the drill. Sonic The Hedgehog and all related properties are owned my SEGA of America, Archie Comic, DiC and God knows how many others. This story is just for fun. So, don't get all wound up about it. Any original characters are owned by myself or Blackbird, unless otherwise stated. If you can help it, don't print this baby out, or sell it, DO NOT modify it, or do any of that crazy stuff. That's not cool. Don't go there. If ya want to use one of my characters, or any of that, you all know the score- gimme a call, an email, whatever. Just let me know, right?  
  
J. Wagner / Cap'n Chryssalid  
  
[Copyright (c) 1999-2004, all rights reserved, you mess with my Fic, you get Messed up, etc… the usual.]  
  
TO MY READERS:  
  
I would like to apologize here and now for the lack of proper indentation. Even editing via the FFN 'QuickEdit' tool has been unable to reliably produce 'tab' type indents. Checking the FFN Homepage, I see that it has been abandoned by the general community. If, however, at a later date indentation becomes available on FFN, I will update past chapters back to what I consider to be the 'normal' format for reading.  
  
Finally, let he state for those of you who have never read the original Cycle of Ages that it is highly recommended you go back and do so, as it fully precedes this work of fanfiction. Much reference will be made to the events of COA, and while background on what occured will be provided throughout this fanfiction, it will in no way be as extensive as you would get from reading the fiction in full.  
  
For those who enjoy COA, or COA:NWO, I would also direct you to my deviant art account. All COA related art which I have made is archived there.  
  
And now... on with the fic - - - -  
  
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"There are several schools of thought on the nature of events."  
  
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"Alright everyone! Let's get in place! Fifteen minutes to Showtime, people!"  
  
Despite the frantic nature of the director's cue, the mood of those present was organized and disciplined. The room was checked for a fifth time, and the lighting was adjusted at the last minute, to give a 'little more shadow' once the actual work was underway. The bed and nearby medical instruments were all in place, but had been moved back and out of the way. They were all functional, but largely unnecessary. Over a nearby intercom, a voice interrupted the effort.  
  
"Dr. Katz to Ward Room!" It was a friendly, if unwanted, female voice. "Paging Dr. Kats, you're needed in the Ward Room!"  
  
The Director of the set stomped his foot at the interruption. "Andy! Damnit Andy! I told you to disconnect the comm.! What if it does off when we begin shooting?!"  
  
"Sorry sir!" Another mobian, a brown furred one tailed fox, quickly apologized. He had a small store's worth of electronics and tools either strapped to his waist, in his vest, or at his workbench. Holding up his hands innocently, he slipped off to the side, and went back to work. The Director, however, was still tapping his foot nervously, and looking down at his wristwatch.  
  
"Where are they?" He grumbled, and licked his too-dry lips. "She should be ready by now… She should be here…"  
  
-----  
  
"There are those who believe that the march of history follows in the footsteps of great leaders, and that without those leaders particular events at particular times would not occur."  
  
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A few seconds later, the room's white doors swung open, and a female minx entered, escorted by two of the set crewmen. One was combing out the ends of her long peach colored hair, while the other was applying some sort of hair spray. She looked quite presentable, even in a plain white patient's shirt, and as she walked (somewhat unsteadily) over to the bed, the two attendants gave quick thumbs up to the Director, who just nodded and shook his palm, indicating his relative approval of their job.  
  
"So far so good." He smirked, just a little, before seeing someone off to the side he recognized. "Henderson! Henderson!! What's wrong? Where's our little star?"  
  
"Ah… there's a bit of a problem, chief." One of the Director's assistants, a mobian skunk, wrung his hands together and bit his lower lip. "The kid… er… made a bit of a mess…"  
  
"What?" The Director shook his head in disgust. "Well get him cleaned up! Spotless, you hear me!! You have five minutes! Tops!"  
  
"Yes sir. I know sir. Five minutes. No problem!" He, too, slinked off and disappeared behind two large teamsters moving a black wall-screen. Elsewhere in the room, different lights flipped on and off, and began testing their intensity. Taking calm breaths, the set Director sighed and took a seat in his chair, reassuring himself that things were on time and that there wouldn't be a delay.  
  
-----  
  
"A second school of thought holds that the individual is largely irrelevant, and that historic events occur as a result of greater social and economic trends."  
  
-----  
  
A young female squirrel brought a cup of coffee, and he took a long drink of the stuff. Fortunately, it was cheap and plentiful, not like when he had been younger, during the days of the Great War. Back then; even before the coffee growing provinces that exported to the Kingdom had fallen to the overlanders, it had been a relative luxury. Julian Kintobor, be he known as Robotnick or Eggman, however, had loved the stuff, and maintained stockpiles of the beans, and plantations for its growth, all for his personal use. Now, with him out of the picture, the crops and plantations had returned to Mobian control, and there was more coffee than ever before.  
  
"Mmm…" Taking another sip, he silently admitted that it would be even better with a sprinkle of ginger. But that particular crop, illegal as it was, was far harder to get one's hands on. Nonetheless, coffee remained, for Mobians, a powerful stimulant, and it quickly lifted his spirits. Things were on time, pretty much. There wouldn't be a delay. They could still go live.  
  
A few minutes later, a dark haired fox walked in, wearing a dress shirt, and approached the female minx lying in the bed. He, too, looked much more presentable after a few hours with the Twins. They had given him a trim, it looked like, and a partial 'makeover.' The shirt seemed a bit pretentious, as polls showed that most mobians males still preferred not to wear the things, but given who he was appearing opposite of it was appropriate.  
  
"Lucky guy…" The Director whispered to himself, watching the husband and wife talk. He didn't know too much about the two of them, except that they had been the fortunate beneficiaries of chance. The male had fought in the Battle of Knothole, but escaped without any major wounds. The female had been a technician of some sort back in that city. She had been exempted from the conscription order during the battle there because of her delicate condition.  
  
'Good for them,' he supposed, taking another sip of his coffee. 'A happy ending, from that whole mess. Too few of those, in real life.'  
  
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"Lastly, a third school believes that all events are predetermined, preplanned, scripted even… by greater forces than we can comprehend."  
  
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Finally, Henderson re-entered the room, followed by one of the Hospital nurses holding a bundle. They quickly handed it to the minx, who visibly brightened at the sight of her baby. Both parents hovered over their well-prepared child, talking to themselves and to him, occasionally making baby noises and nonsense words. While they were in place, the rest of the camera crew got everything set up, and all the lighting in order.  
  
The King entered without fanfare.  
  
Between heartbeats, the Director leapt to his feet, and approached the monarch, his head deeply bowed. Why had no one warned him? Why had no one said anything? Half panicked, babbling apologies and promises in equal measure, probably too fast to be heard, he hoped to assure the King that everything was in place, everything was in order, and that if there was anything he coulddoallthegreatkingneededwastospeakofit  
  
Maximilian silenced him with but the raising of his gloved hand.  
  
"Everything seems to be in place," the King said, simply.  
  
Most of it was, but not all. Of course, the Director knew better than to contradict the King. Instead, he lifted his head for the sole purpose of bowing it again. "It is, my King."  
  
"Very good. I am ready to address My people." Maximilian gestured to the entourage slowly entering the room behind him. "Have you met The Family?"  
  
"No, sire. But I recognize them." The Director took a step back and bowed to the three individuals behind the King. The Queen he instantly recognized, replete in Royal vestments of purple and red. Like her husband the King, she preferred to dress the part of a true Royal. As the King wore his many orders, decorations, titles, medals and his great Crown, she wore jewels, ornaments, and finery.  
  
Compared to the stately duo, their children were virtually threadbare. The younger of the two, the well-known Princess Sarah Alicia Acorn (often enough just "Sally") was particularly under-dressed. While the Director could appreciate that a female her age rarely wanted to conceal a nice figure behind layers of too-human garments, it struck him as somewhat risqué that she sported a relatively simple sapphire blue vest. From what he had seen before, however, she was dressing up at least a little for the occasion: a green collar, of the type that had recently come into style among females, and a similarly colored belt were not usual for her, as far as he knew.  
  
Next to the Princess was the much more rarely seen Prince: one Elias Acorn. Unlike his sister, who quite obviously took after her mother in being predominantly chipmunk (the tail was a dead giveaway), it was more difficult to determine Elias' ancestry. Certainly, he did not look like the King who was his father. His muzzle too broad, his jaw too strongly set, his eyes just a bit too close together, only the heavy brows and bright blue eyes seemed to be the King's work. Still, in the traditional dress of the Favored Son and Prince, there could be no doubt.  
  
Elias, however, seemed unnerved by the respectful bow of one of his loyal subjects, and quickly looked away towards the married couple in the middle of the room. He, too, was married – the Director knew – but to some woman of peasant stock. Rumor had it that they were raising a child, but no one seemed to know for sure whether the child was hers, or theirs. The Prince had renounced his obligation to the Golden Throne years ago, and his personal life was a jealously guarded State Secret.  
  
Lastly, hanging back, an unclothed blue hedgehog stood, leaning against the wall. Noticing that the Director had seen him, Sonic nodded once, and went back to playing the part of disinterested observer. That was fine by the older Mobian. He had heard that the legendary Freedom Fighter wouldn't be present. Still, it was of little concern. If the King wished him to be in the production, then he would be. More likely, however, the blue hedgehog would not play a role in this first broadcast.  
  
That would come later.  
  
This was the King's time to shine. To affirm that the Freedom Fighter's victory was a victory won in His name, and for His Kingdom. Whether Sonic wanted a piece of it or not, no one really knew.  
  
-----  
  
"What then, what if… they were all three correct?"  
  
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"My King…" the Director turned his attention back to the most important of the group, and gestured towards the small family already in the room. "Mr. And Mrs. Danrick."  
  
"It is an honor, your majesty!" The fox quickly bowed when the King began to walk towards them. The female minx, still holding her child, also inclined her head.  
  
"Now, now!" King Maximilian chuckled, and gestured for them to relax. "Let's have a look at this child, shall we? He's about to be famous, after all! Mr. Danrick, have you met my daughter? Sally! Elias!"  
  
While the King engaged the couple, the Director backtracked, and hastily assembled his crew. Quickly interrogating them, he made sure everything was ready, and only then began to relax. Finding his coffee, he downed the last of it in one gulp, letting it born down his throat. He looked up at the intercom, but heard nothing. Behind him, machines began patching into the city communications grid, red lights turning green, one after another.  
  
"Lights…" he said, softly. "Camera..."  
  
"Sir." Henderson came up from behind, and put a hand on his shoulder. "We're ready."  
  
The Director really smiled, finally, honestly.  
  
"Action!"  
  
-----  
  
**THE CYCLE OF AGES: A NEW WORLD ORDER  
  
CHAPTER ONE:  
  
_And There Was Light_**  
  
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Mobotropolis.  
  
Two months after the Battle of Knothole.  
  
From high above, the city looked like a giant crescent. The rise of the Perfect Defense Fortress Helios had removed a massive circular chunk of bedrock from the once vast metropolis, lifting it from foundations carved out millennia ago. All that was left was the outermost sections and the old abandoned suburbs. Now, where the main street and old capitol had once been, there was a massive Inner Bay, flooded by the cold waters of the naturally created Bay of Acorn. Just a mile or two outside of the remnants of the city, the River Acorn ended its long journey from the Felix Mountains to the open waters that flowed into the Great Southern Sea.  
  
Much of the city infrastructure, however, was still intact. Communication and networking lines had been well maintained by the city's cruel master; indeed, Robotnick had done much to improve the city, in his pursuit of an efficient roboticized world. Over the last month and a half, mobians from across the realms of the Kingdom had flocked towards Mobotropolis to rebuilt and resume their lives. Many had no memory of the last seven years, having just recently been deroboticized and reunited with what remained of their families.  
  
The pace of construction was rapid, and some of it very ad hoc. There was still little notion of an economy, and very little printed currency. In some places, people built homes with their own two hands, or with assistance from others who planned to become neighbors. In a way, Mobotropolis was a boomtown, with great tracts of valuable real estate waiting to be 'legally' claimed. Only in the last month had state organized construction crews and surveyors started demarcating areas of ownership, enterprise, and rebuilding. For the moment, however, work had paused. Everyone in the city, and in others like it nearby, knew the King was about to address the nation.  
  
So they huddled around and under the large vid-screens that hung suspended from the tallest surviving buildings. The system dated back to the Great War, but it had been greatly improved upon in the war years. Despite the relative mindlessness of his preferred subjects, Robotnick loved the notion of his voice and face addressing an entire city at once. Workers paused, sitting on half finished girders and steel supports, while other mobians took their families and heavy blankets to sit near one of the towering monitors, awaiting the word of their King.  
  
It began promptly at noon, Central Time.  
  
"My fellow Mobians…"  
  
The face of the King replaced the slowly spinning Seal of Acorns on screens across the city, and on smaller monitors across the country. He was a stately old gentleman in appearance, a ground squirrel who could trace his lineage back to the first Acorn, Xerxes the Golden, and the first King of the Second Dynasty, Marius II Alexander. His bushy white eyebrows and moustache, and his regal dress, gifted him an air of importance and authority no other Mobian could hope to match. Taking a step back from the camera, the King's family became visible behind him. Along with two others, once of which appeared to be in a medical bed.  
  
"I remember all too well my last day in this great city," King Maximilian said, blue eyes stern. "I remember all too well the sting of betrayal that cast me from this great land, that I love, with all my heart and soul. My greatest fear was not for myself, or my life, but for the Kingdom. For this great Kingdom, which has stood so resolute for eight hundred years, and for its noble and steadfast citizens."  
  
The King took a deep breath, before continuing. "We have all endured great hardship. We have all faced terrible trials. Many of us have felt the pain of losing loved ones. For this great land, we have shed our tears and our blood. Almost two months ago, Mobians from across the Kingdom, joined by our Dingo friends from Angel Island, and even Humans from the far side of the Felix Mountains, banded together – bled together, shed tears together, to ensure the liberation of our world from a fate worse than death, worse than slavery: extinction. Now, mindful of these great sacrifices, we have returned home. We have returned to our great city…."  
  
The King's voice wavered for a second, as if wracked by emotion. "Know this, my loyal citizens: Mobotropolis has been wounded deeply, just as the Mobian people have been badly struck by the events of the last decade. But this city shall not die. This city will remain the capitol, and it shall remain the greatest of the world's wonders! We shall rebuild it, greater than before! Brighter than before! Taller than before! More majestic than before! This city shall grow, further west, until it straddles the River Acorn: once more Mobotropolis shall become the City of Lights and Dreams!"  
  
Taking another step back, and to the side, he stood next to the fox and minx at the bed. Slowly, as if on cue, the Queen and the two royal siblings also approached, staying within the picture. The King held out his hands, and the minx handed him a swaddled babe.  
  
"This…" The King held the child carefully, and faced the camera. "This is the future of Mobotropolis. Just two days ago, Mr. And Mrs. Danrick became the first family of Mobotropolis: their son, the first child born within the city in over five years. A sign of life. A sign of love. A sign of revitalization! The greatest gift any subject can give his or her King is proof of their love for the Kingdom, proof of their confidence in the future so many have given their lives for. Let this Kingdom know the laughter of children once more. Let this city know it, embrace it, live it!"  
  
The King held up the child, who started to squirm a little. His eyes were still squinted closed, not simply because of the light, but because all Mobians were born blind. He looked unremarkable as far as vulpine babies went, except his fur was a very light shade of brownish, and his long tail was obviously destined to be more minx-like than fox-like. Lowering the child again, the King turned his head to address the parents.  
  
"Have you thought of a name yet?" The King asked, already knowing the answer.  
  
"We have!" The two said in near perfect unison. The parents looked at each other, before laughing (somewhat forcedly) and silently deciding on letting the male speak for them. The fox held out his arms, and the King handed over the child.  
  
"We were thinking of naming him Miles," the father explained, cradling his son. "After the Hero of Knothole."  
  
The King nodded in approval. There was a brief moment of silence, before he continued, facing the camera again. "No matter what has been taken from us, my loyal subjects, we have been given the future. We have been given a future that will be written by young Miles' small hands. This boy is only the first. Yesterday, a baby girl was delivered. Her parents named her Sally, after my daughter…"  
  
"In the weeks and months to come," The King said, with absolute determination. "I know we will see many more children wake up to find a new and wonderful world awaiting them. It will not be an easy life. I will not tell you that the years to come will be ones of leisure and easy living. We must all work hard to restore the Kingdom to its place of glory. For our future. For our children. I expect the best from all of you, and I know I will not be disappointed. May the Source keep and guide you all, and may it bless the Eternal Kingdom of Acorn "  
  
A second later, the feed terminated, replaced by the slowly spinning Seal of Acorns. Scrolling text under the digital coat of arms continued the description of other news events from across the country. In Mobotropolis, some cheered, while others just went back to work, talking amongst themselves. Thousands of miles away, however, far to the west and south…  
  
"…I know I will not be disappointed. May the Source keep and guide you all, and may it bless the Eternal Kingdom of Acorn "  
  
Hidden behind the back of a chair, a white-gloved hand reached out, touched a small 'x' in the corner of a table mounted monitor, and cut the video feed. A larger monitor, mounted on one of the room's walls, also turned black. Around the table at which the individual sat, eleven other Mobians, of differing breeds, both male and female, shifted uneasily in their seats. Most wore formal attire, and most were at least partially obscured by the low lighting of the room, which played off the many shelves of books and paintings that decorated the meeting hall.  
  
"Our Majesty, the King…" A full, deep voice spoke first, from behind the back of the chair, at the head of the table. "Our Majesty, the Tyrant. We should act soon, gentlemen. You know how fickle the masses can be, and Maximilian is nothing if not a good showman."  
  
"Once we begin this…" A skunk said from the shadows, nervously rubbing his fingers together. "We are committed. There is no turning back."  
  
"What lies behind us, gentlemen, is something we would well remember," The deep voice answered. "This may well be the only opportunity we will have in our lifetimes to throw off the Royal jackboot… to be free… How can any male, any female, turn their back on the promise of freedom? Are we united? We are strong enough, but are we daring enough? I ask you: are we daring enough to ACT?"  
  
A round of nods, and murmured words of approval ran up and down the table. Some seemed more enthusiastic about it than others, but all we at least in general agreement. One of them, a female rabbit, stood up and raised her arm, palm open and covering her heart. Then, her arm lashed out, fingers closed into a fist. "To the Revolution!"  
  
"The Revolution!" Another stood, shaking his fist, and then making the same salute.  
  
"Revolution!" And then another, and then another. "Freedom! Revolution!"  
  
Within seconds, they were all on their feet, and the pact was sealed. Their head member was the last to stand, motioning for the others to lower their voices. "Then it will be so, my friends. It will be so. The Twelve have spoken, and the world shall heed our call to arms. A glorious new Republic shall be born, and like a phoenix, it shall rise out of the ashes of this corrupt Monarchy! There can be no freedom, no New World Order, so long as Royal Blood flows through the veins of would be tyrants!"  
  
"Yes!" Another member chanted. "Yes! Down with tyrants! Down with the King!"  
  
"Down with the King!" Another cheered. And another. "Down with the King! Down with the Royal Family!"  
  
"Death! Death to the Royal Family!" Another yelled. "Glory to the Revolution!"  
  
Looking around the room, at the diverse assembly of Mobians, the group's headman couldn't help but smile. 'A new world... A New World is what we shall build. Enjoy your time in the sun, Old King. Enjoy your fleeting moment of triumph; enjoy your success, built upon the backs of those patriots who died fighting your wars. Soon, it will all turn to bitter ashes in your mouth! Then the world will be purged of your taint… forever!!'  
  
"Liberty!" He held out his hand, covering his heart, before clenching it into a fist. "Liberty or Death!!"  
  
-----  
  
It was good to see snow again.  
  
By nature, Mobius was a somewhat cold planet – most of the forests it boasted were coniferous or deciduous, but rarely tropical. The three largest areas of continuous forest: the aptly named Great Forest astride the main continent of Mobius Major, the Northern Expanse in Kitsune territory, and the un-named forests of Overland, were all temperate to some degree. Only the hidden jungles of Mobius Minor, far to the southwest, and their much smaller cousins in and around the island of Downunda, proved the exception rather than the norm.  
  
Tempest Na'Vidar did not care to visit such alien lands.  
  
The Southern lands home to the Kingdom of Acorn and its peoples had been hot enough for him. It had rained frequently, and with vigor he had found disturbing. It rained in the northlands, naturally, especially in early spring and fall, but never very heavily. But now, seeing flakes of snow falling from the sky, and a cool wind blowing in from the north, Tempest felt more at home, and a little more at peace.  
  
He had taken his time heading north, digesting his experiences of the last few months, and the conclusions he was to draw from them. Things had not turned out as he expected, and a part of him was apprehensive about how the Council of Elders would handle hearing that the Quest appointed to him had apparently failed. He was Ephor Anthal of Clan Vidar, the leader of one of the Seven Major Clans of Kitsune. He was one of the most skilled and powerful warriors of his generation, but though his physical skills were almost without peer, he knew quite well what the anger of an Elder could do. They were wise beyond their years (beyond their lifetimes, actually), and though he was immune to any sort of psionic retribution, a reprimand from them could cause him, and his Clan, to lose face in the eyes of the Assembly.  
  
Like poor Clan Vidar needed that.  
  
'Any more face lost, and the mindless berserkers of Kalahen will have cause to look down their snouts at us,' Tempest thought, bitterly. Then, he calmed. There was little reason to moan over that which he could not control. He would tell them the truth, as his honor demanded of him, and if the Elders condemned him for his failure, then so be it. He would survive, and do whatever was deemed necessary to regain their favor, but he sure as hell wasn't in a hurry to find out what that would entail.  
  
'Oh, but how Thandothane will laugh…'  
  
The forest grew thicker over the next two days, and the sky softly flurried. Only a thin layer of snow, most of which was eager to melt and drip, coated the trees. The season was too young (and the location too southward) for it to stay in any one place and accumulate. It was a pity, in Tempest's opinion. This part of the Northern Expanse really seemed little different from the more northerly parts of the Great Forest, though there wasn't a broadleaf in sight.  
  
That night, Tempest contented himself with catching a wild hare. It was small fare, but he was not in the lands of Clan Vidar, nor was he in land claimed by the Southerners of Mobius. From the smell, Tempest knew he was in Jel'Arah lands. So: no matter how tempting it was to go after more appropriate prey, he stayed his hand, and his claws, and did as Tradition dictated. It had also been tempting to return straight to his home in Clan Vidar, but a lingering paranoia towards southern Mobians compelled him to take a more circumspect route. It had been his intention all along to circle into Vidar through Jel'Arah.  
  
Roasting his catch over a small fire, he licked his lips and upper and lower canines. Kitsune were not mobians of the Third Race, and they were far removed from those of the Second race that hid or denied their predatory heritage. A Kitsune could hardly deny his hunger for a fresh kill, even if he wanted to. That was something his former student, Miles, had learned all too well. Years ago, Tempest would have scoffed at the idea of eating food uncaught by Kitsune hands. Now, he was more…  
  
Cultured? No: not exactly. It was the culture of the southern folk, not of the Kitsune. Still, he had done it. He had eaten food, southern food, of dubious origin, and lived to tell the tale. It remained amusing, however, that even a proud race like the dingo, preferred to disguise their food with plates and sauces and the like. He, like most Kitsune, did not have particularly well-developed taste buds, and as a consequence saw little need to dress up what was there simply to be devoured.  
  
Was there really something… shameful about eating something where you caught it? Many southern Mobians seemed to think so. If they ate a type of meat, they didn't want it to look like it was, or had been, alive. How odd was that? Even after living among them, and coming to accommodate them, Tempest remained convinced that some of their 'Traditions' were quite nonsensical.  
  
Taking the hare, still stuck with the spit, out of the fire, Tempest looked at it curiously for a few seconds. Many Mobians had un-sapient relatives in the animal kingdom. Even Kitsune had wild foxes, which prowled forests and plains looking for smaller, weaker, creatures to eat. Even overlanders and humans had their apes and monkeys here and there on Mobius. Perhaps it was this reminder of their past that kept many races of Mobius from seeing food as the Kitsune were want to – it reminded them of their own fragile mortality.  
  
Shrugging, Tempest finished the small animal in two large bites, bones and all. A Kitsune's mouth was a machine of terrible power for anything on the receiving end of it. Tempest had been bitten before, in both ritual combat, and by kits. It has not been pleasant. Kitsune had strong jaws. The long canine teeth easily pierced flesh (Tempest knew from experience that even the tough hide and thick mane around a male's neck didn't prevent them from drawing blood) while the back teeth effortlessly broke through thick bones and snapped the strongest tendons.  
  
The wild rabbit was no contest.  
  
Throwing aside the burned wooden spit, Tempest dozed off under a large tree. He had a good idea of where he was, and during the night it was likely that those nearby would also find out just how close he had come to their camp. His dreams were a mixed bundle of memories. He saw Miles, and that hedgehog friend of his: Sonic. He saw a great rising pillar of light and fire, from the remains of the crashed Fortress Helios. And he saw Sally – Princess Acorn, he corrected himself – crying over a grave that held no body and no earthly remains. And then he saw, not for the first time in the last few weeks, himself and that same Princess Acorn. He had her in his arms… and her throat in his jaws.  
  
And he knew that when that image entered his dreams, he squirmed uncomfortably where he slept. Soon, however, it was gone, replaced by memories of combat. That calmed him. Sometime in the night, be felt a mental signal to awake, but opted to ignore it. Several hours larger, he awoke – eyes open, and fully alert. For Kitsune, there was no period in between.  
  
Next to him, and leaning against a tree, he saw a female kitsune in typical forest camouflage. She had her weapon still tied to her belt in collapsed form, and was dozing peacefully. Tempest made not a sound, as he slowly got to his feet. It was good to see a kitsune again, after all this time. The female, he gauged, was sixteen or so years in age, unmated, and not an un-attractive specimen ('Not bad at all, for a Jel'Arah,' he mentally commented). Her hair was what a human would have called red, but what the Kitsune referred to as 'flame,' and was tied into a long braid. It was a semi common trait among those of her Clan, but much rarer among those of Clan Vidar. Her fur was a nice shade of darker autumn red, and the tips of her tails were the standard white. Tempest was fortunate enough to have more exotic tip-fur: his was black.  
  
With a lunge, he grabbed her by the shoulders, took her weapon arm (she holstered her weapon to her left, so it was easy enough to know which hand was dominant), and locked it behind her. She squawked in surprise, and instinctively tried to hit him with the back of her head, but ended up only hitting his shoulder and hurting herself. After continuing to struggle for a few seconds, she sighed and lowered her head.  
  
"You have me, Ephor…"  
  
"Eh?" Tempest raised an eyebrow at the comment, and let her go. "You know who I am?"  
  
He left unsaid that he wouldn't have gone through the trouble of demonstrating dominance if he had known she had. It was implied, but expected to be fully understood. Most kitsune knew they were overmatched against an Ephor Anthal of any Clan, and so it was normal to forgo any sort of ritual dominance posturing or displays. Most just submitted. Traveling as most common kitsune do, however, Tempest expected he would have to first show his superiority to her, and then to whoever was the camp master of her village (or her mate, depending on which of them pressed the matter).  
  
"Ephor Anthal Vidar." She said, in the kitsune language. He frowned. It was more respectful to tack on every prefix in a sentence making the phrase into 'Ephor Anthal Na' Vidar,' but this female was either cocky or annoyed at him, or too young and inexperienced to know any better than to use the familiar version of kitsune-go. Tempest let it slide. He was hardly the greatest stickler for protocol in the Assembly of Clans.  
  
But others were.  
  
"Thandothane would have had your throat for such short speak, woman," Tempest said, and frowned slightly. It was unlikely that she would ever run into him, but many Kitsune of Noble birth really would have taken her little over-familiarity as an insult. At her age, that could be a near mortal mistake.  
  
"Maybe." The young female smirked. "But he's a Tukaido Snake. And I'd give him a scar or two before he killed me."  
  
Tempest doubted that, but didn't feel like arguing. Besides, she was right about that first part. Thandothane was a snake in kitsune's skin.  
  
"Take me to your camp, woman." He tacked on a 'huff' to the end of his command, drawing attention to the last word in the sentence. It was unbecoming for him to ask her name, given that she was far below him in the Kitsune hierarchy. This was a polite way to save face, but also prompt her to give him her name.  
  
"I shall, Honorable Ephor." She lowered her head, and moved it to the left, exposing her throat. It was a posture of submission, which he took for granted. In the southlands, it was far more difficult to determine lines of loyalty. Among the kitsune it was easy: the weak submitted to the strong. Exposing one's neck, especially for a female, indicated recognition of dominance and a willingness to give up one's life.  
  
Tempest, of course, didn't take her neck – a very literal phrase among the kitsune. No one ever actually 'took the neck' when it was offered. In that way, it was also a posture of safety. If in trouble, a lower ranked kitsune only had to submit and offer their neck, and they were practically guaranteed to escape with their lives. Only a blood-lusted Kalahen savage would take a submitting female's neck.  
  
She headed to the northwest, and Tempest followed close behind her. He waited a few seconds in silence for her to give him her name. Most kitsune waited ten or twelve seconds into whatever task they had been ordered to do before making the statement to one of much higher standing.  
  
"My name is Kae'Arah Se' Naza Na' Jel'Arah," she said, without flourish. To southerners, Tempest had heard, Kitsune names were obscenely long and complicated. To an extent that was rather true. Certainly, compared to most southerner names, Kitsune ones were quite long and intricate.  
  
"Kae'Arah Se' Naza?" Tempest said the name, and thought it over a few seconds. "I recall that name from somewhere… but can't seem to put my claw on it."  
  
"It is surely a coincidence, Ephor."  
  
"Mmm…" Tempest mused. "Perhaps it is."  
  
And left it at that.  
  
Following the female, Tempest took time to enjoy the view, which in the Kitsune mindset included both sight and smell in equal measure. The forest was getting thicker and thicker (and thus more and more to his liking), and he could smell nearby game. His stomach softly rumbled at the thought. Kitsune, unfortunately, required a large amount of food to remain active. His appetite had shocked many in the southlands, and some had been rude enough to compare his eating habits to that annoying blue hedgehog hero of theirs. Even the boy had had the gall to say as much back in the first few days they'd known each other.  
  
Of course, the other enjoyable thing about the view was Kae'Arah. He smelt her quite acutely, and was happy to be certain that she wasn't in season. Unlike with Sally – 'Princess Acorn,' he corrected himself again – he could know for sure with Kae'Arah. Sally, like all southern females, had had an odd seasonal scent that had confused his nose. Now, with a kitsune female, he could be sure. And, with her off her season, he could admire her without the risk of being interested in being mated to her.  
  
He smirked, remembering how the concept and the phrase had confused southerners. It was quite simple, really. Unlike most mobians, Kitsune males and females only thought of being mated to one another (as in forming lasting familial attachments) during a female's season. Outside of that time, both genders were free to pursue and enjoy each other's company as desired (mating with, as opposed to being mated to). Or not to. Some females, Tempest had heard, had no interest at all in mating outside of their season. As a personal matter, Tempest was of a similar sort – he generally had little mating impulse, not since his Turan'Ha, but after so long among Third Racers and toothless Second Racers…  
  
But thinking of that brought up another worry.  
  
His unmated status itself was a cause for consternation. Clan Vidar had had enough problems with succession in the past, and he was only contributing to future squabbles. He was rather old for a Kitsune, well very nearly thirty years in age, and without an heir. Every year he put off making any sort of permanent mating arrangement, but soon… soon he wouldn't have any more time. It took between eleven and thirteen years for a kit to grow old enough to have his Turan'Ha, and it usually took another three years to complete their training as an heir or heiress. Even if he became mated to a female within the month, it would be almost fifteen years at the best before the child would sire kill him, and carry on his memories. By then, he'd be an old man of almost forty-four!  
  
Engrossed in his thoughts, Tempest almost didn't notice the smells of a Kitsune camp until he got within a mile of it. But the delicious smell of roasting meat, no doubt being smoked to preserve it for another day, made his stomach rumble again – more loudly this time. In front of him, Kae'Arah's ears twitched, having heard the undignified sound, but she didn't acknowledge it, for which Tempest was grateful. It was Tradition for a Kitsune wandering another Clan's land to be hungry, even if he was an Ephor Anthal.  
  
When they got closer, Tempest saw that the female of the head family had decided to welcome him. She looked very much like his current companion and escort, but with slightly more prominently red tipped ears. It took a few seconds for him to make the connection, and when he did he mentally kicked himself for not doing so sooner.  
  
"Honorable Ephor Anthal Na'Vidar…" Kae'Arah took a step to the side, to stand next to the other female. He noted with some pleasure that she used the full honorific. "I present you with the worthy kitsune charged with the humble defense of Camp Amma-Arah: Our Campmaster and Head Female. … My mother, Kae-Uhl Se' Venn Na' Vidar, mate to Kamahl-Uhl Se' Naza Na' Jel'Arah."  
  
"I greet you. Your warrior did well to track and find me," Tempest said, formally, excluding: 'Not as well as she should have, but well enough to matter.' Instead he finished by saying, "A non-kitsune wouldn't have lived long enough to make note of her impatience."  
  
Kae'Arah rolled her eyes. If she had thought Tempest wouldn't make note of the fact that she had been caught asleep, instead of alert and with a blade to his throat, she was sorely mistaken. He had deliberately slept late to see if his escort would end up dozing off herself. Most kitsune awoke at the same time, and it was rude to wake up a kitsune trespasser, but Tradition dictated that a sentry wait for the other kitsune to have his or her rest before being questioned, in the chance that they were exhausted from a long night's travel. Kae'Arah had obviously expected him to be up at sunrise, and then fallen sound asleep with he didn't.  
  
It was a mistake he had never made at her age.  
  
But, of course, he wasn't female and had never been sent out to investigate intruding kitsunes. That was woman's work. By Tradition, it was Female kitsune who guarded the camps, and defended them from intruders. It was the role of males to attack, and females to defend. It had been that was for thousands of years, and would remain that way for thousands more.  
  
"My daughter still has much to learn before she may attempt the Kul'dah." Kae-Uhl inclined her head in parental reproach before looking at her daughter out of the corner of her eyes. "Kae'Arah shall prove her competence to the honorable Ephor by being his Auxiliary for his say here. Is this satisfactory?"  
  
Tempest looked at the older female, as if to ask, 'What are you up to?'  
  
But he agreed. He had no explicit reason to ask for another. "This is acceptable to me. She shall be my Auxiliary."  
  
It was, as with everything, Tradition not to ask the female (or male) who had to perform that function. Standing between the two older kitsune, but outside of the conversation, Kae'Arah sighed, but smiled a little, too.  
  
"Let this camp offer you a meal, Honorable Ephor," Kae-uhl continued. Offering a meal, at any time, was again: Tradition. It allowed a hungry kitsune to eat without having to ask for it, thus allowing him or her to save face, even though both parties knew that the reason a kitsune would be hungry in the first place was also because Tradition forbid them to hunt most types of prey in the lands of another Clan.  
  
"I shall gratefully accept such an offering," Tempest returned, with a little more gentility than was technically required.  
  
Kae-Uhl smiled, accepting the added measure of cordiality. "Your Auxiliary shall gladly retrieve it for you."  
  
"I shall present it to you in the guest quarters, Ephor," Kae'Arah interjected into the conversation, with a little too much eagerness, even as her tone remained polite. She turned on her heels, and walked off, twin tails waving back and forth vigorously – and defiantly.  
  
"Quite a little fire starter you've got there, Kae." Tempest smiled, and spoke more casually now that the two were alone. "I didn't recognize the name with an 'Arah stuck on the end."  
  
"Tradition." Kae-Uhl said, simply. Tempest nodded. That one word was enough. It was the Tradition of the Jel'Arah Clan (though none of the others) to tack on a suffix to the birth name of every member: 'Arah, if unmated. –Uhl if mated. Kae had been just that: Kae Se' Venn Na' Vidar, back when he had known her. She'd ended up mated to a Jel'Arah male, and had adopted the 'Uhl suffix when she moved to his camp. The rest of her name remained the same: unlike with many southern mobians, kitsune females retained their Family and Clan names. The child's Family name was decided by the stronger of their two parents (almost always the male), and the Clan by the place of their birth (when both parents were from different Clans, the one who left to live in the other's Clan surrenders his or her obligation to pass on a Clan name).  
  
She started to walk. It was also Tradition to show a guest around the circumference of the camp at which he or she was staying, both as a display of trust, and as a display of defensive preparedness. Tempest followed her, and appraised the camp half-heartedly as they talked.  
  
"It's been years, Kae – I had heard you mated into the Naza Family from Chara, and that you were visiting, but that was while I was out training with Master Urun Na' Fa'Rah." Tempest pondered how long for a few seconds. "What? Seven years ago? Eight? Yes: Chara was only eleven, going through her own Turan'Ha. "  
  
"Seven years, Tempest." Kae-Uhl left out the honorific 'Ephor' and used his first name. They were familiar enough, however, that she didn't need permission to do so, but she quickly gauged his expression regardless. Then, assured that he was not offended, she continued. "And the last time I saw you in the flesh was nine years before that. You've gotten bigger."  
  
Tempest grunted in response. "Broader, if not taller, Kae. When we last met, I had the size to take you, but not enough training."  
  
She smiled wistfully. "I broke one of your fingers."  
  
"Woman – you hurt my pride more than my hand," Tempest said, seriously. Then, after a pause, the female Kae-Uhl began to laugh, and Tempest joined her. Sixteen years ago, he had been a young male of twelve years going through his Turan'Ha. The rut had done more than increase his physical size; it had filled his head with delusions of invincibility. Like his peers, he had gone about challenging and Claiming females, but as one of the more ambitious boys, he had ventured out of his relative age bracket. Perhaps that was one of the reasons he had gone unmated while so many of his age-mates had found females for themselves.  
  
During that time, Kae Se' Venn Na' Vidar had been an available female of fifteen years, having had her Turan'Ha two years previous. She had been waiting for a worthy male, and Tempest had thought himself up to the challenge of Claiming her. Certainly, at the time, he felt strong enough to do the job. He had exploded in size to the point where he outweighed her, and out muscled her, by a fair margin. The first time he tried, she had simply beaten him up. The second time, she left him hanging upside down from a tree. The third, she broke his left pinky finger. He gave up after the fourth attempt.  
  
"Infuriating woman!" Tempest said, between laughs. "You'd have been better off giving into me! Knowing you, you'd be running the Assembly by now if you had!"  
  
"I'm not so sure, Tempest… you didn't really try and improve yourself until after I taught you that you wouldn't just have things your way by default. I knew it then, and I know it now. I would have been remiss to just give into your tenaciousness, and let you have what you technically didn't deserve." Kae looked at him slyly. "But I did think about it… once or twice."  
  
"Only once or twice?" He teased. Then, he remembered something he had been curious about earlier. "How did you know I was coming, Kae? You couldn't have smelled me this far off. I wasn't making pains to hide myself, but I wasn't advertising either."  
  
"Feh!" Kae-Uhl scoffed, as kitsune often did. "I heard from another of our scouts that you passed by here on your way south. She mentioned to me that night that the Ephor Anthal of Clan Vidar had passed through our land in too much of a hurry to stop for the night. Apparently, you had enough spare time to conceal your own camp by passing through our lands, but not enough to stay and ask of our hospitality."  
  
He accepted her reproach gracefully, inclining his head slightly, but – of course – not offering his neck. "For that, I apologize. To you, your mate, and this camp."  
  
"We will allow you to make it up to us. Tonight, you shall tell us of your adventures… at least as much as you think the Elders would allow, if they were the ones who sent you on this Quest." Kae nodded. "Of course they were the ones. Who else, what else, would compel a mighty Ephor Anthal of the Assembly of Clans to run?"  
  
"You joke, but you speak truth." Tempest shook his head sadly. "I will be happy to spin a yarn, Kae. I can't speak to the quality of it, but I'm sure I'll come up with something."  
  
"I'm sure you'll come up with something. Tonight. In the mean time, your Auxiliary will care for you. No offense intended, Honorable Ephor, but you smell of the southlands. And your hair…"  
  
"I am aware of my appearance and my smell." Tempest cut her off, crossly. Kae-Uhl frowned at him, but stopped in front of a small hut with a thatched roof – the camp's guest quarters.  
  
"Males," She said, exasperatedly. "Left to yourselves, you'd remain as sticky and tangled as the day you were spawned."  
  
"You sleep next to what: a male shaped rock?" Tempest laughed, and so did his female host. Eventually, they both calmed, and Kae-Uhl motioned to the hut next to them.  
  
"Go easier on my heiress than on me, Honorably Ephor. She's only played the role of Auxiliary once before. That male ended up with a bloody nose." The female then added, "She is a fine warrior. More skilled than I was at her age. But she has never truly been challenged. She is… often inattentive."  
  
Tempest nodded his understanding. "I shall see you later today, Kae. And I look forward to seeing the male who finally managed to get his teeth into you."  
  
"Kamahl-Uhl is a reasonable kitsune… for a male. He will not challenge or offend you, Ephor. He has, however, never hosted one of your status, and nor I think has his father or grandfather, for whom he carries memories. I expect he will be rather nervous."  
  
"Tell him this," Tempest said, and turned to head into the hut. "An Ephor Anthal is just a name. He need not fear it, only the kitsune who comes bearing it, and even then not in every instance. I'm as easy going an Ephor as he'll ever meet."  
  
"I'll get the point across, Tempest." Kae-Uhl responded smoothly, and took her leave. Tempest heard her walk off, and entered the hut, pushing aside the flap covering the entrance. Like all kitsune dwellings, it was extremely simple and Spartan compared to the homes of southern mobians, despite being rather much larger. The bed was hand woven linen, and made for virtually any kitsune's size, making it large enough to accommodate even a human or overlander. There was also a torch for light, a few weapons propped up against a wall, and a small wooden shelf that, he knew, contained a very special case. Inside that case were the written records detailing who had stayed as a guest of the camp, for how long, and at what point in time. It was entirely likely that records in that case went back four or five thousand years, if not more.  
  
At that thought, the continuity and stability of the Kitsune, as a race, filled him with pride. The southern races of Mobius had long histories, but much of it was lost to the ravages of time. Life in the south changed dramatically and radically at a mind-boggling pace. Civilizations, like the mighty Kingdom of Acorn, came and went in the blink of an eye, or the flashing of claws. Without a strong sense of guiding Traditions, they were left to whimsy and spur of the moment decision-making.  
  
Inhaling deeply, Tempest also smelled food.  
  
'Finally!' he mentally rejoiced, and sat down, legs crossed, in the center of the hut. Kae'Arah was there as well, presenting the object of his immediate desire: a steaming bowl of thick soup in a stone bowl. Like everything else, the presentation of the meal to the guest of the camp was determined by ancient Traditions – a soup, of some variety or another, was always made available. It was a broth if the guest was in poor health; a thicker confection if he or she was simply half-starved.  
  
"Your meal, Honorable Ephor." Kae'Arah handed him a thick-handled spoon, and a Traditional drink of bitter tea. "I have ordered the males to prepare the strongest drink available for tonight."  
  
Sipping the tea. Tempest allowed himself a happy sigh. Pointing the utensil at his Auxiliary, he smiled broadly. "Let me tell you this, Kae'Arah Se' Naza. After so long in the company of Southerners, it is good to be Home!" 


	2. And There Was Light II

Angel Island.  
  
**Flash!**  
  
A place that didn't always live up to its name.  
  
** Flash!**  
  
It was a crime scene becoming all too familiar over the last few months. Looking about the homey little farmhouse, Constable Remington sipped his coffee with a certain measure of resignation. The crime scene was still 'hot,' technically, but the Head of the Echidnapolis Security Agency knew that the perps weren't likely to be found. The house alarm had gone off four hours ago. In a fast enough hovercar, the scumbags who broke in could be anywhere on the island by now.  
  
At least he could know these days whether they were off-island, too. A quick call to E-SDF Headquarters in Echidnapolis had confirmed no suspicious off-island transportation in the vicinity. The Self- defense Forces were a young group, but thorough and dedicated. No: the ones that were responsible were almost certainly still on Angel Island somewhere.  
  
Taking another sip of coffee – a dark, sweet local brand, not the bitter or sour stuff from Mobius Major or Mobius Minor respectively – the Constable started walking. Keeping moving often helped him think; a problem when one spends so much time behind a desk, but he had always done his best work while on his feet. Sometimes, while running from one crisis to another. But that was another thing altogether.  
  
He took in the details, looking past the echidna deputies and detectives scouring the house for other clues, and the growing lines of police tape and chalk. The door had been broken down, and entry forced in through that, and only that, entrance. The windows were still locked and seemingly untouched. Burn and powder analysis of the door had revealed that a point-blank shot by a heavy caliber round (a "slug" the Dingo called them) had destroyed the primary locking mechanism. Two blows had then taken the door off its hinges – one low and to the side, knocking loose the lower hinge, and the other high and to the center of the door itself. Kneeling next to the fallen piece of wood, Remington again saw that the door was fairly thick and sturdily made. It remained intact, even after it had been knocked over.  
  
That sort of thing required considerable physical force to accomplish; much more than most echidna males, much less females. A large dingo would, of course, have little problem replicating the feat… and there were a LOT of large dingo on Angel Island, but a cyborg or robot chould just have easily done the deed. Looking closely at the dent in the wood where the second blow had registered, Remington tried imagining himself busting the door down. It was too high for most echidna. Even if one was strong enough ('like Knuckles,' Remington thought, but only as a point of comparison), he likely wouldn't be tall enough.  
  
A robot, cyborg or dingo, then. Or one of the rarer breeds of Mobian on Angel Island. Most resident crocodilians were large and strong enough, and fairly ill tempered to boot. A robot, on the other hand, was rather unlikely. The Dark Legion had a few, yes, but would never have used them for so trivial a purpose, and the Legions of robots that served the Eggman were now, by and large, rusting in a field outside Knothole.  
  
Getting up, Remington almost bumped into one of his deputies. They weren't used to working with him this far a field. The house was far from Echidnapolis, in the middle of an isolated vineyard. Normally, it wouldn't have been enough to rouse him from his office in the city, but this was not the first set of murders out in the countryside. Trying to better imagine the mind of the killer, or killers (to be more precise), Remington tried to follow their steps of several hours ago.  
  
After entering the house via the front door, they fanned out, at least three of them. They had two hair samples, but Remington suspected a third, too. The man of the house had likely been in the living room – had he had time to call out a warning to his family? By all accounts, he'd put up something of a struggle. There were bloodstains on the floor, and the pattern was familiar to anyone who had ever broken up a street fight. The husband, by the name of (Remington took a moment to check that) 'Lars,' had taken a blow to the stomach, and coughed up blood. His hand had then smeared it, leaving a recognizable imprint on the hardwood floor, indicating he had fell to his knees soon afterward.  
  
While taking out Mr. Lars, and waiting for his two companions to find the man's wife and daughter, the first assailant then took the time to rearrange the furniture and redecorate the walls. All over the main room, there was damage: shelves were knocked over, the family room monitor was smashed, the coffee table upended, pictures torn from the walls, frames lying in splintered ruin… It was a sort of single-minded aggression confined only to the living room, not upstairs, where the wife had been taken, or in the downstairs bathroom, where the daughter had been. The fact that both females would likely need to have been taken at the same time (the bathroom window had been opened from the inside, indicating the daughter was trying to make a hasty escape), and it hadn't been accomplished with the level of violence used against Mr. Lars, strongly implies it was a three mobian job.  
  
After knocking out Mr. Lars, and wrecking the living room, the first (and likely leader) of the group had the two females brought to him (or her, but likely him). They were lined up along the south wall, and executed. Forensics told him that the female had taken two heavy slugs to the torso and upper body, the daughter one, to the side of her pretty little head (the poor girl had only been fourteen), and the father three – one to his left leg, the other to his torso (breaking his lower back), and another to the right shoulder. He had likely been the last to die of the three, the daughter being the first. When the authorities arrived, all three were sprawled against the wall in a heap, so they had all likely been killed on the spot, and around the same time.  
  
The blueprint for the weapon used was easy enough to deduce, even without having to ask the Lab boys for a Type, Registration, and Serial Number. The dingo were the only ones on Angel Island to use projectile weapons, and the only group on Mobius to employ shotguns, much less of the semi-automatic variety (though he had received a SDF memo that the humans and overlanders were interested in purchasing dingo made automatic shotguns). No doubt about it: the offending weapon had been a Volker-Ruth Type 20 Combat Shotgun.  
  
The gaping bloody holes that particular weapon left in a body was something the Constable would never forget. After the return of Echidnapolis, the Dingo had been ordered to hand over all the heavy weapons that they had managed to bring with them after the dimensional collapse of Dingo City (the Second Dingo City, actually, but 'Echidnapolis' was the Second Echidnapolis, too). To an extent, they had complied – hundred of pieces of military hardware had been surrendered under duress: tanks, planes, artillery, stockpiles of weapons and ammunition. Of course, the dingo managed to smuggle out and hide tons more that never saw the light of day (the presence of so much heavy hardware in the Battle of Knothole was a stark testament to the sheer amount of weaponry that the dingo had managed to horde for themselves). The Volker-Ruth Twenty was one of the better-known Dingo weapons that had managed to worm its way into criminal hands. It was a large weapon with a strong kick, useable only by large mobians: dingo, lupines, crocodilians, etc…  
  
Still, the dingo had most of them. And they'd made use of them from time to time. More than one deputy had been 'emptied out' by a Type 20 patrolling the dingo slums at night, whenever the population there was in a state of near revolt. Body armor did little good. It could keep a flechette round from turning a deputy into ground beef, but did little to stop a heavy tungsten penetrator round, like the kind that had been used here. Sipping his coffee, which was quickly turning cold in its Styrofoam cup, Remington grimaced.  
  
And, if that wasn't damning enough, there were the two fur samples they'd managed to get hold of. One had been in Mr. Lars' left hand, which Remington found odd. Lars was right handed, not just by the way his right hand had broken his fall and smeared his blood from before, but also by the fact that he still had a wrist watch on. If any hand would have gotten a hold of his attacker's fur, it would have been the other one. The other bit of hair had been on the corner of the daughter's mouth. Has she managed to take a bite of one of her dingo attackers? There was no blood except her own, so if she had, her teeth had never broken her assailant's skin.  
  
Finishing his coffee, Constible Remington sighed.  
  
"What a bloody waste…" He tucked his right thumb into his belt and shook his head sadly. "A real waste."  
  
The Interior (and by that, he meant the Echidnapolis Security Agency) had only incomplete DNA records of the local dingo population. Their files on the echidna residents of Angel Island were quite good, but the dingo… if he wanted to ID the perps by their hair, and he DID, then he'd have to go through the so called dingo 'authorities.' Which meant General Viktor von Stryker and his boys. They still had their computer database from Dingo City, but had refused to hand it over. Remington had wanted the city to push harder on getting access to it, but the Dingo had (again) risen up in revolt, and no one was particularly eager to give them cause for more trouble. Now it was even worse, in a way. The Battle of Knothole gave the dingo cause international recognition, and emboldened the dingo leadership.  
  
He'd send the DNA stuff over to Stryker's Lab Boys in his "Army Commissariat for the Interior." Dingo Military Police were notoriously efficient (and brutal), but also notoriously dedicated to their orders and their superiors. Much more so than to the truth, or to justice in general, at least in his opinion. They'd likely feed him the same line they had before: that the hair samples belonged to two dingo vagabonds, reported missing X months or weeks ago. He'd do more extensive background checks on Mr. Lars.  
  
Maybe there was some connection between this killing, and the ones from before. Or… maybe, there was no connection. Maybe there was just a cult or gang of lunatics out there murdering echidna at random. One thing was for sure: when news of this got out, and Remington knew he had no reason to try and cover up the story, it wouldn't do anything to improve echidna-dingo relations on the Island. Not at all.  
  
Adjusting his hat, Remington left the house to get a breath of fresh air.  
  
Outside, the vineyard flowers were in full bloom.  
  
"Who the hell is doing this?" Looking up at the clear blue sky, the echidna security chief felt older than his twenty-nine years. "And why?"  
  
-----  
  
Tempest hissed softly, as the comb went through another knot in one of his tails. It felt like years since he had been properly groomed. Most male kitsune were (sad as it was) rather incompetent when he came to proper grooming; they could straighten out a coat well enough, but that was usually all. Which was why, even if he had been a female guest to the Amma-Arah camp, his male Auxiliary would have allowed another female to step in to take over in the Traditional grooming and cleansing rituals.  
  
He shivered slightly – a feeling almost alien to Kitsune. But his fur was wet as well as knotted, and the water had been melted ice. His people were extremely hardy when it came to the cold, but not immune. What remained of his actual clothing had been removed and patched already, from what damage it had taken here and there. Most was extremely minor, but his footwear – a pair of simple moccasins, with tough leather for soles, and well-insulated hide for the ankles and lower leg – had been in worse shape. They were in a corner now, looking as well as the day he made them. Smiling a bit, he remembered the footwear Sonic the Hedgehog had used. Those things made his 'shoes' look like the warmed leavings of a male cow. But they suited the unchallenged leader of Clan Vidar just fine.  
  
Another knot found and terminated.  
  
Bearing his teeth, in pleasure not in a warning display, Tempest felt Kae'Arah lean more heavily against his back as she worked. Despite his doubt about how happy she was to be ordered around (a southern equivalent for a kitsune who didn't like following orders would be 'quirky,' or even 'anti-social,' given that all of kitsune society was predicated on orders and Tradition), she had done her duty not only competently, but also honorably. She was honestly trying to do her best to accommodate a guest to the camp. That was more admirable and important than the actual quality of the work she did, at least in Tempest's opinion.  
  
On numerous occasions, he had ordered Chara, his younger sister, to perform as Auxiliary for high-ranking guests. His camp, the headcamp of Clan Vidar, was far larger than this one, and as a consequence more often hosted guests and travelers. Chara was assigned to deal with the most important ones that dropped by, though she didn't always enjoy doing it. And Tempest knew when his little sister didn't enjoy doing something she purposefully did it poorly. Despite reaching what the kitsune think of as near middle age (she would be twenty in two years), she remained rather juvenile in some respects. Tempest was glad to see Kae'Arah, despite having a fiery disposition, didn't let her feelings towards an assignment compromise her execution of it.  
  
"Honorable Ephor…" she asked, from behind his head. His ears swiveled partly to hear her better. He was on his stomach, and Kae'Arah was straddling his lower back while she worked her way through his two tails.  
  
"Yes, Kae'a?" He felt no discomfort in shortening her name. It was common between high ranked kitsune and low, particularly with those they favored.  
  
"Do you remember what fighting my mother was like?"  
  
He hadn't expected that question. Shrugging his shoulders a little, he shifted his arms up and under his chin before answering. "Yes. I remember the fights I had trying to Claim her quite well. Would you like to hear of them?"  
  
He almost felt Kae'Arah nod. "If you would, Honorable Ephor."  
  
"Very well." He took a deep breath, causing her to move a little from her position while she combed his second tail. "I first caught her scent some time before that, you see. It was before my Turan'Ha… two years before. Your mother, back then her name was just 'Kae,' underwent her Turan'Ha a year after most of her litermates, as you know. She was thirteen, and quite a ferocious little thing. I had been in many scraps before, but I had never seen a female truly fight before. Hers made every male-male fight I had seen in the past pale in comparison."  
  
"I don't remember exactly who it was she had been fighting. She had arrived the year before, both to receive special training from one of the old masters and to eventually find a mate within the Vidar Clan. She was one of the few females to rut that year, much less that season, and so she was quite popular. So when I first saw her, she was exhausted, angry, and disheveled. Her opponent was a male larger than I am now, even as an adult. As a child before his time, he seemed like a mountain or a force of nature. As was Traditional, he used only his claws and teeth for the Claiming, but they seemed large enough to stand in for battle knives and spears!"  
  
Tempest chuckled at the memory. "Your mother fought like the most bloodthirsty Kalahen harpy… but, when she finally finished with the male who had Claimed her, and left him bleeding on the floor, she straightened up, and instantly returned to her dignified self. I suppose even then I should have known she'd end up in a Clan like Jel'Arah by the too-proud way she carried herself… a-ah!"  
  
"My apologies, Honorable Ephor." Kae'Arah quickly said. Tempest was about to grumble, when he remembered she had his tails in her hands. He was in no position to complain about the sharp tug he'd suffered, especially after that last comment of his, no matter how endearing he'd meant it to sound.  
  
"Ahem." He coughed, clearing his throat. "Well, she fascinated me, and two years later, she was still unmated. I had thought one of the higher ranked males of the headcamp would step up to Claim her, but none did. Some spoke with her and made arrangements, but none of them ever amounted to anything. I, for one, cannot say why. Your mother was of noble, if not truly high borne, blood… but for many of the higher ranked males, convenience has become all important. Most of my fellow Ephor Anthals have rather weak females for mates, chosen not for their strength, but for their bloodlines and political connections."  
  
He sighed, and continued, "But I digress. I was halfway through my Turan'Ha when I felt confident enough to challenge her for the first time. I was already larger than her, and had a fair reach advantage. I had seen her fight before, and decided that grappling would be the best approach, instead of trying to wear her down at distance. I still think this was the key to beating her, but realizing an avenue of attack and following through with it are two very different things. She accepted my Claim with forbearance, and went rather easy on me, now that I think about it. I had managed to get her into an arm lock on her weak side, when she reversed, flipped me onto the ground, and pinned my free arm with the heel of her foot."  
  
"The next time, it had been raining, and I thought the muddy ground would work to my advantage by keeping her from using her footwork. Thinks were going better, and I managed to pin her twice, though doing so had cost me several solid blows to my ribs. I was hurting on my left, and she realized it. After taking another painful blow, I got angry (and sloppy) and charged her. Next thing I knew I had mud in my eyes! I hadn't been paying enough attention to her feet, and she'd kicked a glob of the stuff with perfect precision. Blinded for a few seconds, she laid into my injured left side, and threw me into the branches of a tree. I ended up hanging there, limp as wet cloth, for half the day."  
  
The younger Kae laughed politely. "Did she make you angry, Honorable Ephor?"  
  
"A little," Tempest admitted. "But she also made me want her even more. She was a strong female, and didn't shy away from demonstrating that. Even after the beatings I took, I wasn't quite ready to admit defeat…"  
  
He described the last two fights in more vivid detail, remembering them more clearly than the previous two. She was an attentive and avid listener, occasionally asking questions as to his technique and the lessons he drew from the effort. Afterwards, he asked what her own experiences had been, and learned that she had beaten all the unmated males in her camp. He knew he shouldn't have been surprised, but secretly was. He offered to test her skills for himself with whatever weapons she preferred before he left, knowing that a positive word from an Ephor could help draw additional males to attempt a Claim on her.  
  
She seemed reluctant to accept. Tempest would have associated it with what Sally had called 'shyness' except that Tempest doubted female kitsune thought that way. After giving it a few seconds' thought, he dropped the inquiry entirely. If she wanted a spar, he would give her one. If not, then just as well.  
  
After the grooming was complete, she asked about her own Ephor: the leader of Clan Jel'Arah, Tae-Uh Se' Dommu Na' Jel'Arah, and his young heir El'Arah. Tae was Tempest's age, and in some ways reminded the kitsune of himself. The largest difference arose from the fact that Tae smoothly inherited his position from his father, and El was just as likely to have a smooth transition of power. Jel'Arah had not had a problem with succession in eleven generations. For that, if no other reason, Tae had grown up to be extremely conservative in his policymaking. One of the positions, which aptly demonstrated this, was his undying dislike towards the Turo Clan.  
  
It amused Tempest to see his Auxiliary bristle at the mention of the Turo Clan.  
  
Though she had never met a Turo, she knew well her Clan's grievances towards them. Jel'Arah was an ancient Clan, and would have dominated the Assembly if not for Turo, which was reckoned as more ancient and powerful simply by virtue of its size. Jel'Arah was wedged between Clans Turo and Kalahen, with only a small sliver of land bordering Vidar. As such, the Turo had long used the Kalahen against the Jel'Arah. The Tukaido, always eager for a boost in prestige and always ready to curry favor, also tended to support Turo and Kalahen. Tempest's own Clan, Vidar, was Traditionally a staunch supporter of Jel'Arah, with the distant but powerful Dae'th'ai and Fa'Rah being less vocal allies (understandable, in that Clan Dae'th'ai had ambitions of its own to dominate the Assembly).  
  
After listening to him speak of Assembly politics, Kae'Arah asked to be excused to assist in the preparation of the night's feast. He let her go and thanked her for being patient enough to listen to him (most kitsune had no interest in politics, even their people's own). The earlier promise of strong drink had not been forgotten, either, and he knew that that part of the feast was Traditionally handled by the guest's Auxiliary. Alone, Tempest checked the job she'd done on his coat and mane, and found it to his satisfaction and more. He was clean, groomed, and back among kitsune, much to his relief.  
  
Still…  
  
Laying sideways on the futon, Tempest relaxed allowed his mind to wander. In the morning he would leave, and go to speak with the Council of Elders. He was not looking forward to it. Not only had he failed to bring Miles back to Kistune territory, but also the brat had gone and gotten himself killed. Or at least it certainly seemed like he had. How much, Tempest wondered, did the Elders already know? How much did they need to know? Not all of his experiences in the south had centered around the training of the boy.  
  
Unbidden, the face of Sarah 'Sally' Acorn appeared. He could remember her body pressed against his own, and the mixed feelings that resulted from the contact. That, above all else, was something he would have to keep from the Elders when he spoke with them. He was strong enough that he didn't have to worry about a Condemnation of Corruption from the old men. If he was declared corrupted, and his Clan in need of a Ephor Anthal Zanzir, or Foreign Clan Leader, he would fight whatever ambitious Ephors dared to try and make good on the opportunity. Most wouldn't dare, knowing his reputation. Kalahen, perhaps… but Bloodsmythe was a fool, and libel not to care that he was overmatched against the lord of Clan Vidar.  
  
What to do?  
  
How to do it?  
  
These questions plagued him, even as comfortable as he became in familiar surroundings. Only that night, when the Head Male and female revealed the great stag that was to be the night's feast, and the casks of mead, made of honey and water, were broken open did he forget the problems he would have to face the next day, and perhaps in the weeks and months to follow. Males and females took turns trading stories of battle and adventure, and with each drink they grew taller and taller in stature, and more and more grandiose in scope. Tempest did a little to exaggerate his own stories as well, though he put much more work into editing them to make them more appealing to kitsune listeners.  
  
"The iron beast must have stood as tall as five Fa'Rah kitsune warriors!" Tempest eagerly gestured with his hands, even as one held a half empty mug of honeyed ale. His muzzle was still bloody from the feasting, and his tails waved eagerly. "Its hands… Its four hands… bristled with southern weapons! Bladed scythes, meant to cut a warrior to shreds, a grand cannon, a bolt from which could turn an oak… an old oak like this!" He pointed to one of the larger nearby trees. "Into kindling! There I stood, the bodies of broken half-machines all around me...!"  
  
Of course, they had been all machine, but such was the wonders of editing.  
  
"HO! Great Ephor, what did you do?!" A male cheered, and raised his mug.  
  
"I had only my trusted polearm with which to do battle, good Jel'Arah! My polearm depleted of power! So as tempting as it was to use my ranged mobility to my advantage, I could not." Tempest held out his hand dramatically. "I did what any kitsune with blood in his veins would do. The great iron monster roared a challenge, belching smoke and flame, and so, teeth bared, I answered with one of my own! And attacked!"  
  
"HO! HO!!" They cheered, male and female. "Lord of Vidar! Who fears no weapon of the south!"  
  
"Its skin, my brothers and sisters, was as hard as mountain stone! Into his guard I charged, having dodged not two, but three blows from its mighty arms! I stabbed at it between its iron joints, and heard some damage done, but saw no slowness to its movements! Pulling back, I tried to sever a hand, but found its armor too thick! My attacks were not availing me, but in its haste to extinguish my life, my fellow kitsune, I saw its weakness!"  
  
As he spoke, and gestured, Tempest saw Kae'Arah. For most of the night, she had stayed close to her parents, but now she was by herself. Her hair, a lighter more vivid red than that of her coat, almost let her blend into the flames dancing around the campfire pit. Her eyes, a sharp and exotic shade of cyan that he hadn't seemed to notice before, twinkled as she listened to him speak. Continuing his story, he saw other kistune, but the image of Kae'Arah stayed at the forefront of his mind. He knew how things were handled well enough. If she was interested, she would come to him outside of her season. He had little say in the matter otherwise.  
  
He actually saw little of her until later in the night. The fog of the mead had left the listless drinkers to stumble back to their dwellings, leaving only the sour and sober sentries keeping watch behind. He had watched, with a measure of jealousy, as Kae-Uhl and her mate (a rather likable fellow, actually) passed familiar looks each other's way. They had retired on their own, after promising to see their honored guest again in the morning before he left. Soon, what was left was a small troupe of females, of varying ages, who were still interested to hear of his stories. Having moved beyond tales of battle, now, he had taken to talking about the Assembly and the powerful noble lords and ladies of its court, along with the enigmatic and mysterious Kitsune Council of Elders.  
  
None made any attempt to impress themselves on him.  
  
He didn't realize why, until sometime afterward, when two strong hands pulled him to his feet and into a fierce locking of lips. How much Kae'Arah had to drink, he didn't know, but he did see the faces of some of the other females over her shoulder. Like all males, Tempest knew somewhat abstractly how aggressive female kitsune vixens could be, but that was tempered by the fact that all vixens maintained a certain decorum around their male counterparts. Locked into the passionate embrace, Tempest felt Kae'Arah's tongue move over his muzzle, licking the traces of blood from his fur.  
  
An angry hiss from one of the other females precluded their hasty dispersal.  
  
In her season, Tempest may have found himself acting more aggressively, but this was not the case. So, the War Leader of Clan Vidar allowed the younger female to drag him off like a kill in a cougar's jaws. Only inside the confines of the guest hut did he allow himself a degree more adventurism. She was a beautiful specimen: strong and eager. Her soft mews and throaty hisses drove him for hours until the point of exhaustion, and by the end of the night all of her hard work cleaning and grooming had been undone. It was a pity, yes, but a small price to pay. By the contented sounds she made before he fell asleep, he felt comfortable assuming she would think similarly.  
  
He awoke at an undignified hour; long after the sun had risen. As before, Kae'Arah slept even later. He took the time to admire her. To his annoyance and dismay, he found himself comparing her to that damnable Princess Acorn he'd become acquainted with in the southlands. Kae'Arah was kitsune, of course, which was an automatic plus in her favor. Her hair was remarkably similar in shade as well as texture, though much longer; reaching all the way to her tailbone, once it had been unbraided. ("Your mother's hair was the same," a distant voice, that of Torrent, Tempest's father, interjected much to his son's annoyance). Kae'Arah was larger, taller, than Sally as well, which suited Tempest just fine. To him, Sally had always seemed somewhat fragile, though Miles had proven that fragility was not necessarily as much a problem as Tempest had thought when it came to southern females.  
  
Kae'Arah had also been much stronger than the Princess, as well as being gifted with other little surprises. Having sparred with Sally before, he had a good gauge of her physical strength. Kae'Arah was easily two or three times as strong, though her lithe frame belied this fact. Sally also lacked inch and a half long claws that instinctively tensed up along with the rest of her body. Tempest knew he'd be nursing scratches for the next two days at least. Slowly extraditing himself from her, Tempest left to retrieve frozen water to wash himself. There was no open body of water handy near the camp, so kitsune washed themselves by splashing cold water onto legs and arms and torsos. It took longer, but it got the job done.  
  
When he returned, Kae'Arah was awake. He helped wash her off, as well – the kitsune had no public taboos about such things as did the southerners – and then she took an hour to go over his coat and mane and tails for a second time. By noon, he was once more in perfect condition, save for a few nicks and cuts here and there, and ready to take his leave. Inclining his head to the two heads of the camp, he thanked them for their hospitality, and for the feast in his honor. As he was leaving, however, Kae-Uhl did something unexpected, and ran to approach him as he walked from the camp.  
  
"Is there a problem, Kae?" He asked, politely. Inside, however, he was very curious as to what the female could want. Had he forgotten something? It seemed unlikely.  
  
Kae-Uhl shook her head at his apparent clueless ness. "My daughter is smitten with you, Honorable Ephor."  
  
"Oh?" Tempest didn't commit to an actual answer to that, but opened the door for a more detailed explanation.  
  
Kae-Uhl nodded. "You were the only Ephor I ever met, so of course I told her stories about you. You should have seen her face when I told her you had passed by our camp without stopping by. And you should have seen her eyes light up when I told her you were likely to pass by on your way back home to Vidaran."  
  
He wasn't quite sure how to respond to that, so he grunted non-committaly.  
  
The elder Kae took that at face value, understanding his position. She said, after a moment, "I hope you'll visit us again soon, Ephor Anthal Vidar. I suspect Kae'Arah will be practicing her skills in anticipation of when you do. And I expect I shall not be here to speak with you far into next year."  
  
"Kae'a's brother is returning then?"  
  
"He is. When he does, he will most certainly challenge my mate and fulfill the Kul'dah. My own retirement will follow soon after at Kae'Arah's hands."  
  
"I see." Tempest did see, and sighed inwardly. When would he receive a Kul'dah at the hands of a worthy heir? No time soon, certainly. "Kae, you must understand that I cannot…"  
  
But he paused, halfway through that sentence.  
  
A sudden surge of confidence replaced the pessimism of the last few days. "Kae. I shall return within the year. Come what may, you have my word on that."  
  
"As you say, Honorable Ephor." The slightly older female bowed her head respectfully. "Safe travels… and safe appointments."  
  
Tempest smiled at the insightful little addition Kae have given to the farewell. Inclining his head once more, he took his leave from the Amma-Arah. Walking through the woods in good time, he felt his confidence grow. He was the strongest of Ephor Anthals. Nothing the Elders could do would ruin him! Nothing they could do would destroy him! If he had to fight, tooth and claw, to serve Clan Vidar, he would. But in the end, he would prevail, because he was strong! Like all predators, kitsune respected strength. Even in light of his failure in the south, he had that going for him. He was no child – he would not quail before the Council, and they would respect him for it, even if his pride was more hubris than anything else.  
  
Three days later, he arrived at the border of lands belonging to Clan Vidar. He stopped only briefly at a camp that paid homage to him as leader, not as guest, before resuming his trek. A week later, he finally saw one of the Four Great Trees of Vidar, planted by the Clan Founder so many ages ago. By this time, his approach was well known, as kitsune in other Vidar camps psionically contacted their relatives in Vidaran. As he neared the large camp, Vidar kitsune in full armor lined up to welcome him by displaying their battle readiness. Tempest nodded to them as he walked past.  
  
Halfway to the center of the camp, two kitsune females stood in his way. The first was obviously older; well into her forties. Her long red hair, somewhat paler than Sally or Kae'Arah's, flowed freely. Only younger females typically braided their hair. She stood at attention, but still managed a look of slight disdain as her son approached. Next to her, Tempest's younger sister, Chara, also stood at attention. Her coat was the unremarkable tan of their family, and her hair was an even darker midnight black. It matched the less common black chest fur and tail tips that both children had inherited from their mother.  
  
"How fares the defense of my realm?" Tempest asked the two females, imbuing his voice with the harsh and authoritarian tone he had inherited from his father.  
  
"No foes of Vidar sleep on our lands, Great Ephor," Tempest's mother, Urania Se' Kedennish Na' Vidar, answered first. Until Chara sire-slayed her mother, she would always be of lower rank, and thus not entitled to speak first. "However, my son and Noble Ephor, I must report yet another intrusion of automatons in service to the southern 'Tah."  
  
Tempest smirked, catching his mother by surprise. "Good Mother, I would not worry so much over another intrusion by them for some time."  
  
As if to cut short his good news, his mother then added, "I have also heard rumors of overlanders in kitsune lands…"  
  
"Eh?" That did catch Tempest by surprise, and he hid it poorly. "Humans on our lands?"  
  
"Not our lands, but the lands of Clan Jel'Arah." Urania have him a sly look. "Otherwise, all is as you left it. A Tukaido guest wishes an audience with you, as well, and has for several days now. I expect he will have much to complain about, given your fair sister's poor treatment of him."  
  
"Chara…" Tempest growled.  
  
"Our honorable guest is a drunkard, a pervert, and a weakling." Chara growled in response. "In other words, a typical Tukaido sneak thief. He thought his charms would work on an Ephor's sister." She scoffed. "They didn't."  
  
Tempest shook his head at his sister's antics.  
  
"I will deal with these matters after meeting with the Council." He pointed to the two females, and motioned for them to step aside. They did so without a word. Taking a few steps past them, he paused and added. "It is good to see you both once more. Wish me fortune in the coming hours."  
  
Without waiting for a response, he headed towards the standing stones in the middle of the camp. Leaving his weapons behind, he felt his footfalls leave soft grassy earth to tread on ancient marble. He had done this before, and would likely do so many times again, but the experience never got any more comfortable. His body tingled as he entered the circle of stones – great twenty-foot monoliths of the most ancient architecture. Standing in the center, he heard voice, whispered and wizened. The world grew darker and darker, and the voices clear and clearer, until…  
  
He found himself in limbo.  
  
"Welcome, Tempest Se' Taima Na' Vidar," said a chorus of voices. "Ephor Anthal Na' Vidar. He who has seen and spoken to the Lords of the Ice. We, the Grand Council of the Kitsune Elders, will now speak with you. Hide Nothing From Us, For Here We See All."  
  
Tempest looked up into the endless night that surrounded him.  
  
"I acknowledge the Authority and Power of the Council, and offer myself for your judgment…" He took a deep breath. "For I have failed in the task you asked of me."  
  
"Of that, Honorable Ephor Anthal," The Council said as one. "We shall be the Judge."  
  
-----  
_  
-----  
  
Fingers pinched the leaf and picked it from the forest floor. Those same fingers quickly brought it up to a sensitive nose that twitched, twice, taking in sharp breaths of air. Slowly, the fingers lowered, and a lone figure stood up.  
  
He looked to the west.  
  
"Finally..."  
  
-----  
  
"W… What? Wait! Just who are you, and what are you doing here?" Sally backed up, but bumped into Tails. Strangely, the young fox was just standing there, staring at the new comer's torso - and tails.  
  
"He hides behind you like a frightened whelp." The fox tilted his head slightly. "Tempest is my name. Tempest Na'Vidar. Of the Family Taima. Of the Clan Vidar. And that not so young pup there is Miles Na'Turo. I am to bring him home."  
  
-----  
  
"I don't know what you're talking about…" Tails voice was resolute. "But these are my friends. They are not Prey!"  
  
-----  
  
"The Hedgehog!?" Tempest suddenly blurted out. "You lie! He was raised by a low born 'Tah?! How could even you allow this to come to pass?"  
  
"It was too late when I was finding them." Antoine didn't flinch at the insult. "And… I did not think myself fit to try…"  
  
"He is a Prey," Tempest hissed, "I will NOT acknowledge his claim. Not in a thousand cycles! Not when the poles bleed red and the skies snow fire and ash!"  
  
-----  
  
Tempest growled at the insult to his honor and his clan. "Your plots are as obvious as they are fruitless, Keionah. I accept, in the name of my Clan. What is this contest to be that I will be bested by a little hedgehog in it?"  
  
"A race," Antoine quickly answered, before Sonic could speak up.  
  
-----_  
  
-----  
  
The Darkness broke, leaving Tempest swaying on his feet. He heard murmured voices, but knew they were actually thoughts transmitted through the ether. Stepping into the Circled Stoned had allowed the far off Council a stronger link to his mind. A moment's lowering of his natural Kitsune mental defenses had drawn him into their world, more than they into his mind. The actual Council had no physical location, but existed in the minds of all the Elders of which it was a part.  
  
"Ephor Anthal," came a distinct voice. "Are we to believe that you, the greatest warrior of Clan Vidar, lost a footrace to a mere mobian hedgehog?"  
  
-----  
_  
-----  
  
And then, to Tempest's surprise, the hedgehog accelerated AGAIN, up and over a hill, spinning as he did to avoid wind resistance and bash through a log in his path.  
  
"I… Incredible…" The hunter thought to himself, watching Sonic rapidly catch up to him. "Looks like the little rutter was right after all…"  
  
-----  
  
"The name is Sonic!!" The hedgehog in question yelled. "Remember it!"  
  
-----_  
  
-----  
  
"What is true, simply is, Elder." Tempest bowed his metaphorical head. "I was not able to match the speed of the southerner called Sonic the Hedgehog. Had the race occurred in a flat plain, you would have seen his true speed, which, I hear, is considerable. No: No Kitsune, I think, could have beaten Sonic in a race. No living Kitsune."  
  
"What you say sounds almost too fanciful to believe, Ephor Anthal." A few more murmurings, and then: "An Adept. The hedgehog is a Chaos Adept."  
  
"A Powerful One," Tempest added.  
  
"This does not, then, reflect so poorly on your performance, Ephor Anthal. However…" Tempest didn't like the sound of that particular word and tone. "However: a vein of thought had arisen among the Elders. Can you conjecture as to what it is?""  
  
There was no need. Tempest knew.  
  
"You wish to be certain that a race was necessary."  
  
"This is truth, Ephor Anthal. We have seen the memories. There are those…" The Elder was canny enough not to mention how many, and whether they were a majority or minority opinion. "Who question your decision to play along with these southern mobians. You were sent south to retrieve the son of Eblis and Aurora, not to fraternize with mobian … 'Freedom Fighters.'"  
  
'Fraternize?' Tempest wondered, and knew the Elders would hear his loud thoughts, but hoped they wouldn't grasp the full depth of why he had zeroed in on that one word.  
  
"Elders of the Kitsune," Tempest thought/spoke; projecting his voice into non-space. "As you must know, the thought of taking the boy by force was one of many avenues I contemplated using. The city of Knothole was not too large, and I have no doubt that I could have killed any of the 'Freedom Fighters' who would oppose my actions, however I ruled it out as unlikely to succeed in the long run."  
  
"I saw," he continued. "Right away, that the boy was taken in with the southerners. I had to make him leave of his own volition, and I gauged that, in a matter of weeks, he would want to travel north anyway. I was willing to wait for that time, rather than act hastily and try and take him north by force. Had I done so, I am convinced that he would have fled south at the first opportunity."  
  
Tempest knew how hard that would be for the Elders to grasp.  
  
It would have seemed equally as insane to himself of a few years ago. Now… now he was different. He had a broader and more accepting view of the southern mentality. Still, superimposing that mentality on a fellow Kitsune felt… wrong. Fundamentally wrong.  
  
"What you say," An Elder spoke up. "You earnestly believe. How strange, if truth."  
  
"Shall we continue?" Another asked. "I feel from his memories that we are missing something important within this timeframe."  
  
-----  
_  
-----  
  
"Were they good people? Why were they killed, and not everyone else?"  
  
"You misunderstand," Tempest said softly. "They left the village and did not wish to part with you. They went south as a raiding party with the blessings of the Turo War Leader to take the head of some mobian commander. The exact circumstances around their deaths remain a mystery."  
  
Tails was aghast. "They were Raiders?!"  
  
"They were warriors … Tails. Your people are warriors. We do not make secretaries and factory workers, my boy. The blood of a thousand generations of proud fighting males and females, the fiercest and greatest ever to live, flows in your veins. You feel it. Now, more than ever."  
  
-----  
  
"He won, didn't he?" Tails stated, as if reading Tempest's face.  
  
"He did at that, young Turo." Tempest walked past him, to the Ring Pool. "He was faster than I. …And I will not let such a worthy Prey die in a ditch dug by his own feet. He has bested me, but there is yet one other who I know could be faster than he."  
  
"Who?" Tails asked, before looking over to Sonic's unconscious body. "Faster than Sonic?"  
  
"You, of course. In the fullness of time, I am confident you will outpace him." Tempest relaxed against a tree. "And I'm not leaving 'till I see that day come to pass."  
  
-----  
  
"A Chaos Emerald?"  
  
"Yes… that is the echidna name for them, but an 'Emerald' implies that it is green, and most Gems of Chaos are not..."  
  
Tails made a frown. "You've never mentioned them before."  
  
"Why should it matter?" Tempest asked. "Why this big interest in the Gems of Chaos?"  
  
"Because…" Tails licked his lips, remembering the feeling of power he'd once had. "I've worked with them. I've held them. And more!"  
  
-----_  
  
-----  
  
"Interesting." One of the Elders paused the flashes of memory. "And you believe this to be truth, Ephor Anthal?"  
  
"I do, Elder." To Tempest, it didn't matter whether the Elder was of Clan Vidar or not. They were all of equal status and standing. "The boy was not one for idle exaggeration. Furthermore, from what I later saw, I am left with no doubt that he has not just seen and held the Chaos Gems before… but used them."  
  
"Used them?" A different Elder sounded insulted by the thought. "Already?"  
  
Tempest was about to answer, when the last word the Elder had spoken repeated in his mind. 'Already?'  
  
"Elders?" He prompted.  
  
"We continue," The Elder from before answered, tone harsh. And it was so.  
  
-----  
_  
-----  
  
"Tails! Finish this NOW!" Tempest demanded. Tails looked over his shoulder, and his eyes met Tempest's. For a second, he was defiant; then, without pause, Tails' wrapped his arm around the lion's neck, and snapped the head around 180 degrees.  
  
"Happy?" the boy asked, innocently.  
  
Walking over Tails' kill, Tempest let himself tower over the still shorter pupil he had been training. Tails' met his mentor's gaze for only an instant, before a backhand to his face sent the young hunter flying, to the ground. For a second, Tails' eyes glazed over, then, suddenly, tears welled up, and he looked back over to the warrior standing over his kill.  
  
"There is no honor in torture, boy." Tempest pointed down at the cougar's body. "This kill… has disgraced you."  
  
"I'm… I'm sorry… I…" Tails felt more tears come to the surface and hid his face. "I… I… I don't know what… I'm so sorry..."  
  
"Strength without honor… is only tyranny." Tempest, kept his gaze cold, hard. "Why do we Hunt?"  
  
"For food…" Tails answered. "And for honor."  
  
"Honor," Tempest stressed, "Honor!"  
  
Tails saw his hands, white gloves stained crimson. "This… this isn't me… I'm not a killer!"  
  
Tempest sighed, and walked over to the young warrior. "Tails…"  
  
"I'm sorry!" Tails looked up, and, without warning, wrapped his arms around Tempest's neck. "I'm sorry! Don't leave! I won't do it again!"  
  
"It's ok, boy…it's ok… I'm not leaving…" Tempest suddenly remembered this boy, just moments before, had broken the neck of a mountain lion like a twig, but put aside the thought. "I know you're sorry…."  
  
"I wanna go home…" Tails cried into his shoulder.  
  
"Ok, little warrior. Ok…"  
  
-----  
  
"I am." Tails paused. "Ready to Train. Though… I would prefer, today, if we stayed here."  
  
"In Knothole?" Tempest asked. "Isn't this the day you normally go out on patrol for her Highness?"  
  
"Be both know the answer to that," Tails spoke frankly. "You're taking my place, aren't you?"  
  
"Yes," Tempest said after a second's delay. "How do you feel, Tails?"  
  
"Well…" Tails cracked his neck to the side to flex it. "Well enough. Just…"  
  
"What?"  
  
"Hungry…" Tails said it almost guiltily.  
  
-----  
  
"Someone's headed our way, boy," Tempest kept his eyes closed, and thought. "Smells like rabbit. Southwestern Softtail"  
  
"It's Amanda" Tails thought back.  
  
"Odd… I've never smelt her around before"  
  
"She just came here. I met her yesterday"  
  
"Oh? Was she the one who…"  
  
"Yes"  
  
"Ah" Tempest smiled mentally. "Hope you don't get too attached to her"  
  
"Why's that" Tails thought/asked.  
  
"Your family already has a slew of potential mates waiting for you back home. Females of your own breed and kind"  
  
"Well… that's certainly sounds nice and all, but it doesn't explain why I can't get attached to Amanda"  
  
"She's a 'Tah"  
  
"Don't call her that" Tails thought with force behind it. "'Tah is a derogatory term"  
  
"But it's true. A Wolf, or even a One-Tail I could understand… but you cannot form a pair bond with a female who is not of the Second Race"  
  
"And what would you say if I love her"  
  
"I'd say that love is irrelevant. It is impossible to bond outside of the Second Race. It cannot be done, and making an attempt is forbidden"  
  
-----_  
  
-----  
  
"What is this?" One of the Elders practically roared. "This is unforgivable, Tempest!"  
  
Tempest's mane and tail bristled at the tone and the threat. "The boy was already…"  
  
"It occurred in your absence, while you were out on this 'Patrol' freeing up time for the boy to train, is this not truth?" The elder queried, tersely.  
  
"It is truth, yes…"  
  
"And it was your decision to leave him to his own devices, is this not also correct? To leave him without supervision?"  
  
"Ah… yes. That is also truth, however…"  
  
"Then the fault lies with you, Ephor Anthal! To allow the child of Eblis to develop an emotional attachment to some low born Prey animal…!"  
  
"With all due respect, Elder," Tempest interrupted. "The boy already had emotional attachments to low born prey animals long before you and yours tasked me to retrieve him."  
  
The Elder practically hissed in anger.  
  
However, another voice spoke, cutting the confrontation short. "Let us take some moments to rest and contemplate what we have learned. The Council will meet with you in three hours time, is this acceptable, Honorable Ephor?"  
  
Tempest inclined his head in respectful thanks. "It is, Elder."  
  
And, like that, it was over.  
  
Standing up, alone, amid the Circled Stones, Tempest shook his head to clear it of any lingering voices. With his barriers back up, everything returned to normal. There was only himself, and the traces of his father and grandfather, who were content at the moment to remain silent. This was good. Tempest knew his (lower nobility) grandfather had a dislike for the Council in general, after having gotten in numerous doctrinal arguments with one of its members. Still…  
  
Some of what the Elders had said bothered him.  
  
As he walked towards his hearth, he thought about that. They knew Miles' name – why not use it? Why repeatedly call him the son or child of Eblis? Was there something regarding Tails' father that Tempest had not been privy to? It would be something to ponder, while he waited.  
  
At least they hadn't suspected anything unusual involving Princess Sally.  
  
Emboldened by that, Tempest almost didn't notice the wizened figure approaching him. When he did, however, the Ephor Anthal Na' Vidar recognized the kitsune perfectly. His was not a Clan that produced a great many Elders of note, but Mercer Na' Vidar was one of those exceptional few. Mercer wore the cloak of an Elder, but also adorned it with a long pair of blue prayer beads around his throat and over his left shoulder. His dark fur had paled slightly with age, but he still stood dignified and straight, even after over (at least) seventy years of life.  
  
"I greet you, Good Elder." Tempest raised a hand in salute. "I did not hear you speak when I met with the Council, and was unsure whether you wished to see me or not."  
  
Mercer approached slowly, and fell in step alongside Tempest. It was something very few kitsune would have felt bold enough to do. Tempest slowed his own walking, so the Elder could keep pace more easily. He still hadn't spoken.  
  
"Elder?" Tempest prompted again. "Is something the matter?"  
  
"Honorable Ephor Anthal…" Mercer looked at Tempest with piercing black eyes. "I wish to discuss with you a matter of no small importance."  
  
"Oh?" Tempest asked. "And that is…?"  
  
Mercer wasn't smiling. "Princess Sarah Acorn. 'Sally' as you seem to call her."  
  
Tempest blinked, hard, and faced forward.  
  
"Yes. There is that," was all he said.  
  
At least at first. 


	3. And There Was Light III

By the appointed hour, Tempest appeared physically refreshed. His mental state, however, was anything but. It was late night when he arrived at the edge of the Circled Stones that stood tall at the heart of Camp Vidaran. The hour was no coincidence. Though kitsune were capable night predators and hunters, their enemies were most active during the day, and as a consequence they were too. Like all animals, they tired, and they suffered from fatigue. Tempest was no exception.  
  
The Council, he knew, preferred to save their more rigorous 'meetings' for late at night. When tired and deprived of sleep, the mind was mhen he would have spent the last few months in the normalcy of the northlands. He would have remained untainted by southern thoughts, problems, and … interests. And, best of all, he never would have met Princess 'Sally' Acorn. That whole association was proving more costly and potentially dangerous than he had imagined.  
  
'On the other hand,' he allowed himself to speculate here, outside the Circled Stones. 'If I had never gone south, I never would have had the pleasure of training a truly exceptional young kitsune. Had I not made the trip… where would the boy be now? Alive? A mindless savage? A robot slave of that southern tyrant: Robotnick?'  
  
Spe He would have remained untainted by southern thoughts, problems, and … interests. And, best of all, he never would have met Princess 'Sally' Acorn. That whole association was proving more costly and potentially dangerous than he had imagined.  
  
'On the other hand,' he allowed himself to speculate here, outside the Circled Stones. 'If I had never gone south, I never would have had the pleasure of training a truly exceptional young kitsune. Had I not made the trip… where would the boy be now? Alive? A mindless savage? A robot slave of that southern tyrant: Robotnick?'  
  
Speculation was not something Kitsune were particularly good at.  
  
Nor something they engaged in often.  
  
He, however, seemed to be the annoying exception.  
  
Resignedly, Tempest stepped onto the cold marble of the Circled Stones. To his left and right, large slabs of rock climbed to the height of twenty some odd feet. They were solid monoliths, sixteen in all, etched with ancient runes. They bore no real resemblance to Kitsune-go (itself a very complicated and difficult script), looking more pictographic or iconographic than phonographic. He had learned, as a kit, that they were built by the Kitsune in ancient times… and ancient times for the Kitsune really meant Ancient Times, as in tens of thousands of years in the past.  
  
But who knew for sure?  
  
It served as a focal point for the Psionic power of the Elder Kitsune, and that was what mattered. At he approached the center of the Circled Stones; Tempest heard the whispers in his mind. By the time he had no further to walk, the voices were as clear and distinct as if the Elders were standing all around him, and not hundreds or thousands of miles away. When he lowered his mental defenses, and opened his mind to them, they came like a flood…  
  
He was in limbo once more.  
  
"I appear before the Council, as requested." Tempest's eyes scanned the darkness instinctively, but saw nothing. And why should he? There really was nothing to see here. In reality, his eyes were closed, and he was seated in the center of the stone ruins. Here, he would only see something if he (or one of the Elders) wanted to make a point with it or of it. When they reviewed his memories, they often flashed into existence, but usually at many times speed – almost like a rapid replay of the last few months.  
  
"What of the Council's thoughts on the last topic of discussion?" Tempest asked, hoping for a better response than he had gotten last time.  
  
"This Council finds the presence of a chimerical relationship of the sort indicated totally unacceptable! It is acknowledged by the Council that the son if Eblis must be… and has been… in contact with southern moors in a manner alien to the Kitsune people. The creation, however, of a permanent bond akin to that produced by a mating custom is intolerable! Steps must be taken to insure the termination of any such bond, at any cost. Is this clear?"  
  
"It is, Elders. However, it may be a moot point regardless."  
  
A moment's pause, and then:  
  
"Perhaps, Ephor. Perhaps." The Elder's tone didn't sound convinced. "Now. Let us continue."  
  
-----  
_  
-----  
  
"He taught you to fight like you did against me just now?"  
  
"Some," Nail explained a little reluctantly. "Though most of it implanted in me when I...'born'. Why, what's got you so worried?"  
  
"Your style of fighting is... very overlanderish. Highly unusual, for one who is an echidna, and whose body lacks the structure to fully utilize such techniques."  
  
"Overlander-ish? …There's probably a reason for that," Nail muttered.  
  
"You... had an overlander as your mentor? ...Or was he your creator?"  
  
"He was NOT my mentor!" Nail yelled, suddenly. "He never was and never will be!"  
  
"I was only curious." Tempest was honestly surprised by the outburst. "Information on their fighting styles is very difficult to come by. I had hoped you'd know a living, flesh and blood overlander I could meet and learn from. Most of my knowledge on their styles is second or third hand."  
  
Nail 'hmfed.'  
  
"You wouldn't want to meet him. Trust me."  
  
"I see…" Tempest decided not to broach that subject further.  
  
-----  
  
Rouge sighed. "No, I'm not in heat. I just have a way with men. I find it sometimes helps in certain situations."  
  
Tempest breathed a sigh of relief. "Good. The last thing I need is a bunch of halfbreeds running around. ...In any case, I want you to, if you can, avoid the Freedom Fighter you would know as 'Tails.'"  
  
"Tails?" Rouge blurted the name out. "Why would I have to avoid him? He's just a kid for crying out loud!"  
  
"You obviously haven't seen him recently." Tempest eyes' twinkled dangerously.  
  
"Not really… not for almost a week. Why? What's wrong with him?"  
  
-----  
  
"She's pretty handy from time to time. Sally still doesn't like her, or trust her, for obvious reasons. Sonic usually vouches for her, though, so he trusts her. Enough to give her an invite to his monthly trash-the-house party, even. She might have a thing for him, after he saved her from Buttnick." Tails frowned a bit. "Females are stupid like that, when it comes to him."  
  
"Feh." Tempest rolled his eyes. "It is not my concern what the Princess thinks of her, or that little blue rodent. I told you to avoid her, so you will."  
  
"Sure thing. It shouldn't be a problem."  
  
-----  
  
Halfway through that thought, the door suddenly flew open and Tempest saw Nail staying there with Tails thrown over his shoulder. The echidna put the fox down in front of him, and then looked at Tempest.  
  
Tempest stood up and looked down at the boy. "What's this?"  
  
Nail did the same. "You tell me."  
  
Tempest looked more closely at Tails. "At least he's breathing… I told you not to blast him anymore! What happened out there?!"  
  
"I didn't blast him!" Nail countered. "I was training him. I thought he was... like me. I thought he had some kind of link to one of the Chaos Emeralds. But when I tried to get him to fire on a rock... something happened. It felt like my mind was on fire! I want to know what it was."  
  
Tempest's eyes widened. "Oh no... oh no..."  
  
-----_  
  
-----  
  
"Yet another training mishap, Honorable Ephor?" It was that Elder from before, Tempest recognized the thought/voice. Aside from that, however, Tempest had no clue who seemingly had a grudge against him among the Council. "And yet another training partner? Highly unorthodox of you to accept so many, or from a group so diverse."  
  
The Elder was taking few pains to conceal his insults this time.  
  
Tempest's upper lip curled.  
  
"A fake echidna of dubious background and a Princess of the hated House of Acorn! What strange bedfellows for one whose purpose is to guide a young kitsune back onto the path of his people," The Elder inserted a contemptuous snort. "And here we are presented with the son of Eblis on the verge of brain damage!"  
  
Tempest saw, quickly, that the remaining Elders wanted him to defend himself.  
  
He proceeded to do so. "The Princess was most close to him as a kit. Having her assist me in his training during the Turan'Ha was most effective and expedient. You only mention it to inflate the inclusion of Nail into the training program. However, Good Elders, I will admit I am far from flawless, particularly in a task like this, for which I am not as well suited as others…"  
  
That served to soften things up. They had asked him to go, not the other way around. They must have known he had never had a child, and had little experience with kits. His sister hadn't even given birth yet, so he had no nephews or nieces. The only aids he had were the memories of his father and grandfather.  
  
"In my judgment, I came to believe Nail could be put to productive use. Let me explain why. He is a tenacious and headstrong mobian. Had I not included him, he would have found some way to interfere. This way, I was able to maintain as much control over the situation as I could. Additionally, Nail has access to powers and abilities of which I have no experience or knowledge. Most specifically those regarding the use of 'Chaos' energy."  
  
"As for the boy's condition…" Tempest allowed himself a smirk. "He was not nearly so weak, Elders, as I am sure you all know."  
  
Tempest heard murmurs of agreement, to his relief. It had been somewhat of a gamble at the end, there. Finally, yet another Elder spoke up for the Council. "We will ponder your words, Ephor. I, for one, find them both wise and well spoken. Let us also continue this investigation."  
  
Voices of agreement came from all around him.  
  
Tempest silently inclined his head.  
  
-----  
_  
-----  
  
"These are my patients." Mina waved a finger at him. "And you have no right to oooh!"  
  
Picking her up with both hands, Tempest ignored her squeal of protest, walked over to the door, and dropped her onto her feet outside. Bunnie shook her head disapprovingly, but had an amused smile on her face. A second later, he closed the door, leaned against it, and let out a long drawn out sigh of relief. That business taken care of, he walked up to Rouge's bed and crossed his arms, looking down at her.  
  
"What?" She asked, batting her eyes.  
  
"I told you to avoid him." Tempest pointed out without compassion. "Didn't I?"  
  
"And I did avoid him." Rouge replied. "Mostly."  
  
-----  
  
"This is all your fault, you realize," Tempest said after a moment. "One of those two are going to die out there."  
  
Rouge looked over the fight, realizing exactly how easy Tails had been on her when they had their 'fight.' "How do you know that?"  
  
"Because I know both of them. Tails will kill him to get you if he has to. And Nail won't stop fighting, even at the cost of his life. This isn't good. Especially because while Nail is very skilled, I… taught my student to identify and exploit the vulnerabilities in any opponent, and he knows all of Nail's weaknesses."  
  
"Then why don't you go in there and stop them?"  
  
"I can't. It would dishonor me, my Family, my Clan, and Tails himself... I can't. It's not how it's done." Tempest looked down at her. "But you can stop this at any time."  
  
"I would… but I somehow doubt I'd last a minute in there with those two."  
  
"No, I meant... just take Tails are your mate. It'll only be for a few days. Then, when the Turan'ha wears off, we can have someone else Claim you, and take you off his hands."  
  
"Well, what do you think he's gonna do with me for those couple of days? I don't think I'm quite ready for 'that.'"  
  
-----  
  
"Well... you're not just going to march in and take her, are you? We're not animals." Tempest took a massive chunk out of the boar's leg and proceeded to chew it. "The act itself is the easy part. But… I want to make this absolutely clear, unless you do not already know. You… should not force this on her, or any other. Not a female of the Third Race, and not a female of the Second. Not even an overlander female, should you ever actually encounter one. I know the… temptation and the lust you feel during your Turan'ha, because I experienced it as well. Perhaps I was too… perhaps I was foolish to think I could keep you isolated from such circumstances…"  
  
"Regardless…" Tempest's stone cold eyes bored into his student. "Know that I cannot command you, by Tradition, not to force her. By Tradition, the decision is yours, when it comes to non-Kitsune females and other 'spoils of war.' I respect that, as I respect Tradition… but on a personal level, I find I cannot abide such actions. You are Turo! You are proud, and you are strong! I know, because I have fought you, and I have a pack bond with you."  
  
"Tempest, I…" Tails face turned passive, and he looked up into the sky. "I know. I know… I was actually afraid I would… afraid I couldn't control myself. I would never…"  
  
"Never… say never, young Kitsune," Tempest interrupted. "Had someone else raised you, would you be the same creature you are now? Had you been left to your own devices in the wild, would you think as you do now? Morality is not an absolute, but it is the water mark of good character."  
  
Tails nodded, silenced.  
  
-----_  
  
-----  
  
"I can scarcely believe what I am seeing! Yet another emotional bond…!"  
  
"Of that, Elder, I am unsure!" Tempest quickly interrupted. "I strongly believe that the boy's mating with the mobian bat named Rouge was physical in nature, and not built on any strong emotional bonds."  
  
"How can you be sure, Ephor?" A different Elder asked, calmly. "Lust is, itself, a strong emotion. After all, are not all natural pairings based, at least in some part, on carnal attraction?"  
  
"Please understand things in the context in which I faced them, Elders…" Tempest said, hating how pathetic it made him sound. Recovering, he took a deep (though non existent) breath, and started over. "Elders – I stand by my decisions. Many were made in haste, yes… and maybe there were not all the correct ones, looking back with perfect hindsight. However, given the circumstances in which I had to draw conclusions and solutions, I look back with pride on how I handled things."  
  
"A true Kitsune Ephor would have killed those two females…"  
  
"Proud Elder," Tempest jumped at the miscalculation his most vocal critic had made. "Had you sent this 'true Kitsune Ephor' in my place, he surely would have failed quite spectacularly. What would you say to him then, I wonder?"  
  
"Enough of this!" Another Elder jumped in. "The meeting will move forwards, not backwards. We shall continue this to its conclusion, and then draw conclusions!"  
  
Tempest winced, as the memories left him fast than before, and with greater force.  
  
-----  
_  
-----  
  
"He has great power. Enormous power, hidden under the surface."  
  
"He's always been… special." Sally agreed. "He's been racing Sonic since he was little… He's been one of our best operatives for years, now. Its amazing, really, how far he's gotten since he was just a kit."  
  
"Tell me, Princess… what were your dreams like last night?"  
  
"Last night?" Sally hid her eyes, a cascade of red hair obscuring them when she looked down at the floor. "Not good."  
  
"I don't expect that they were. Last night was a night of grief."  
  
"A night of… grief…?"  
  
"The Boy… Tails… last night he had a dream. Or a prophecy. Certainly, he believes it to be the latter. He saw his parents… die…."  
  
"I want Robotnick's head on a pike," Tails snarled without hesitation. "I want to look into his dead eyes every morning when I wake up, and every night before I go to sleep. I want the legacy that was denied my father: the primacy of Family Prower and Clan Turo."  
  
"You wish to be… Ephor Anthal?" Tempest asked, and lowered his head slightly.  
  
Miles chuckled airily. "Ephor Anthal is only the beginning! When I have gathered my power, I shall be Ephor Anthal Siphir! Emperor of all the Clans of Kitsune!"  
  
"Well…" She steadied a chair and sat back down. "I'd still like to know what that 'very good authority' he was talking about was."  
  
"As would I, Princess... though I have a fairly good idea. Nail probably asked Athair, his echidna holy man and master... the question is, what exactly did the old one say? Nail thinks Miles could become a tyrant, right?"  
  
"Right."  
  
"A tyrant to whom? A tyrant is one who forces his will on others... who are those others? Us? The Kitsune? Your Third Race? Robotnick? We don't know, and further, we don't know if it will come to pass at all."  
  
"This is a dark and difficult time, but it is also a chance… a twilight before the dawn… For a year now, Robotnick has been on the defensive, and we have strategize and planned and ultimately failed to make any real progress against the entrenched city of Robotropolis. Now, however, Robotnick is throwing his full weight into the attack, and we have an opportunity to take advantage of that, if we are daring. And if we are willing to make sacrifices…"  
  
"Wait," Rotor interrupted. "Are you saying that this Helios weapons platform is a good thing? What did you find out about it?"  
  
Miles frowned. "It cannot be attacked through conventional means. Which means we will have to be creative. But what better to force the intransigent few into taking necessary steps?"  
  
"Ahh…" Tempest attention suddenly turned elsewhere. Looking to his side, he saw the floating fortress Helios. It seemed to be powering up. Tempest idly wondered if it would destroy the city, then and there. How sad would that be: to be blasted from above without even being singled out as a target! There was, however, nothing that could be done about it, and in typical kitsune fashion, Tempest didn't concern himself with what was out of his control.  
  
If he died, then he died.  
  
"It would… appear… that we are not the target…" Tempest watched Helios carefully. "I think I see. The boy…"  
  
He smirked contently. "I may not be able to do anything about that little problem… but you… you are another story."  
  
Across the city, mobians followed suit. Fighter pilots, artillerymen, infantry, Special Forces, Freedom Fighters… of every breed and description… looked up into the overcast sky, where a bright bolt of energy slowly spiraled through the air in a lazy arc. Just seconds earlier, Helios had fired at the approaching HMS Nor'easter, now… no one… no thing… knew exactly what was going on. Twisting and turning, the streak of white lightning curved, lighting up the sky like a second sun.  
  
Tempest shielded his eyes from the light.  
  
The bend of light finally fell upon the flying city, and when it did it broke the moment's silence with a flash and a boom unparalleled in recent memory. Helios' shield, for all of a heartbeat, resisted the energy. Long tendrils of it curved around the egg shaped barrier, flying in different directions at near light speed. The first explosions were all around the flying city, bathing it in a sea of flame, before the shield exploded outwards with the same force trying to direct itself inwards.  
  
Those who didn't instinctively look away were instantly blinded.  
  
A towering inferno, a mile high, stretched heavenwards, blowing away the assembled collection of clouds overhead. The column was etched in red and orange and black, veins growing and worming up its terrific height, feeding material into a growing mushroom cloud. On the ground, a shockwave of seemingly solid air followed a deafening howl with all the fury of a hurricane condensed into a single cry. Hundreds, mobian and robot alike, were knocked off their feet, and hundreds more were buffeted and slammed into walls or crushed by flying debris. Across Knothole, roofs were blown off buildings, and rubble from the edge of the city became like horizontal hail, cutting down anything in its path.  
  
Looking in the direction of the Egg Walkers and the fallen Flying City, Tempest (like Sonic, on the other side of the city) felt the tremor shake him to his core. It traveled along the ground like a wave, tossing mobians and robots alike off their feet. The ripple in the ground uprooted trees and threw down unsteady buildings, and at its epicenter, the fallen Perfect Fortress Helios trembled and broke apart. Even those with no Chaos sensitivity could feel it, like the contraction of a volcano about to climax and explode.  
  
The light didn't dwindle from its lancing point, deep within Helios. After a few frightful seconds, it expanded a hundredfold into a great and wide jet of white and yellow, raging upwards past the long since broken cloud cover. As it widened, it vaporized millions of tons of the once flying city, and blew out and away thousands more. Titanic slabs of stone and bedrock flew from the destroyed hulk, raining devastation on the clustered and assembled ranks of the remaining robot army, before the beam widened one last time, engulfing them entirely. Higher and higher the pillar of light ascended, until it broke orbit and disappeared into the void of space.  
  
And then, with a sputter, it was over.  
  
Where Perfect Defense Fortress Helios, and the majority of the robot army, had once been… there was only a crater nine and a half miles wide, and half a kilometer deep. Around it, much of the Great Forest still stood, but ended abruptly. It was almost as if the hand of some malevolent god had reached down and scooped out a chunk of the planet, removing it cleanly and entirely.  
  
-----  
_  
-----  
  
"This is not how it was supposed to be!"  
  
"No. It is not." The calmer Elder silenced the firebrand. "This story, however, hands us more questions than answers."  
  
"We must be more cautious," Another Elder said, a little nervously. "We… we must be more careful in the future. This was our best opportunity to have him for our purposes."  
  
"We did as was decreed." Yet another spoke up. "We can not be faulted for following the Will of the Lords. The Ephor was chosen by them, not us."  
  
"We may have misinterpreted the signs," the calm one sighed. "Regardless: this is not talk for here and now."  
  
Tempest had stood by while they chattered, listening carefully to every word. He pretended, however, to be bored and uninterested. How successful he was, the leader of Clan Vidar was not sure. But he tried, at least.  
  
"Elders?" He asked, finally, knowing they wouldn't say anymore in front of him. "What say you? As I admitted, the Quest was a Failure."  
  
"It was a failure, to unleash the son of Eblis to brazenly. You are the strongest of all Ephor Anthals – you should have served as a shelter, not as a brazier!" The calm Elder's tone quickly returned to normal. "However, the circumstances are more at fault than you are. His infatuation with these two southern females was unfortunate, but perhaps impossible to totally guard against. And, as it turns out, this latter relationship may provide us a rare second chance at things. Thus, we may end up being quite fortunate it occurred at all before the boy became involved in this Helios business."  
  
The more impulsive Elder practically snarled at that. "To suggest that the hopes of this most illustrious Council would lie with some mangy misbegotten mongrel halfbreed…! It flattens my ears and bares my teeth, the very thought!"  
  
"Yet it is truth. Our truth." The first Elder coughed, mentally, as if to imply the other had already let his mouth run wild a few times too many. The Elders drew back, murmuring amongst themselves. Tempest waited.  
  
And waited.  
  
Finally, they deigned to speak to him once more. "It will be many weeks, perhaps many years, before the Council can devise some resolution to this dilemma. You, however – Honorable Ephor Anthal Na' Vidar – will not be held to hard account for your Failure."  
  
And then as one: "So speaks the Grand Council of Kitsune Elders. As it is spoken, it is done."  
  
And, in a heartbeat, they left him alone, sitting in the middle of the Circled Stones. Opening his eyes, he felt even wearier than before. The sun was starting to rise, which meant he had been with the Council the whole night. Grimacing, Tempest slowly got to his feet and ran a hand through his hair, pushing it back and out of his eyes.  
  
He should have been happy.  
  
But remembering his conversation with Mercer Na' Vidar, he found that impossible. He had escaped the wrath of the Council of Elders, but not the jaws of one of their number. With a resigned sigh, Tempest started walking back to his hearth. He would deal with that situation in time, after he finished with other matters. And he would deal with those after getting a few hours sleep.  
  
"It's just one blasted crisis after another…"  
  
The southlands, it seemed, grew nothing but troubles.  
  
-----  
  
Space.  
  
Far above the planet Mobius, space was literally a dumping ground. The remains of several space stations of varying sizes, uncounted expired satellites, and chunks of broken Death Egg filled the skies. While it was true that most of the larger pieces had burned up, the sky was still a forest of static and interference. Within the debris, working satellites still operated.  
  
One such device, an ungainly contraption with the face of a dead man, twisted an inquiring antenna to a signal coming from the planet below. Hearing it, recording it, the satellite become interested, and turned yet another antenna – a more precise one – over to the occurrence.  
  
"… please respond. Requesting assistance. The Network is down… may be experiencing possible malfunctions… Is anyone out there? Is anyone listening? Situation is desperate! … Re-transmitting authorization codes… Someone… respond… I am attempting to rally our forces but… but I can't be the only one… I can't be…"  
  
Checking the code, the satellite came back with an affirmative acknowledgement. Coding a burst signal, it aimed it towards one particular patch of ground on the planet below. "Code confirmed, unit. Please transmit orders for relay."  
  
"Satellite… satellite, have you received signals from any of the others? Any of them?"  
  
"Negative." The primitive satellite AI responded simple-mindedly.  
  
"Then… then…" A small voice thought to itself, far below. "I am truly alone…"  
  
**-----**  
  
**Two months later.  
  
Mystic Ruins - Overland Continent.**  
  
"Another one."  
  
"I can't see a damn thing. Where's that halogen lamp?"  
  
"There we go!"  
  
"Think you can crack the code, Sam?"  
  
A few seconds of silence.  
  
"Not in less than four hours, no. This door it isn't too thick, though. Tell the boss we should blast through."  
  
"You think she'll risk it?"  
  
"You heard what she said about us running out of time. Now hurry up and get the C-4 and a demo team. This is probably the last room. Probably the Core."  
  
For much of the last few millennia, the distant and isolated continent of Overland remained little more than a dream. A land whispered of by Mobian scholars and chroniclers, one for which even basic geographic data was largely known second hand. The birthplace of the strange and xenophobic humans and overlanders of Mobius, the vast expanse of the Tranquil Sea separated it from Mobius Major in the west, while the smaller Silent Sea performed a similar function in the east. For hundreds of years, the only mobians to walk its shores were slaves or the suicidal.  
  
All that changed after the Second Great War, and the destruction of the seemingly invincible Terran Federation at the hands of the usurper of the Kingdom of Acorn: Julian Kintobor, better known as Robotnick or the Eggman. Only the hidden city of Station Square survived the war of extermination, surviving for years after Robotnick left his devastated homeland to nurse his wounds and spent forces. Miles from the mysterious ruins of Station Square, further south along the coast, were much older structures long covered by creeping jungle. These came to be known as the Mystic Ruins, not for any real supernatural activity, but for their discoverer: Charles Myst. The ancient sites, however, were not what drew the latest crop of visitors to the area, all the way from Mobius Major.  
  
Rouge swatted an insect that stuck to her cheek a millisecond too long for its own good. Looking at the smashed remains on her palm, she grimaced and wiped them off on her baggy cargo pants. Around her, similarly dressed Mobians worked slavishly, moving heavy crates and delicate equipment onto large transport aircraft. For a hundred feet, dense jungle rose into the air all around her, and while a part of her felt at home in this sort of habitat, the cultured side of her was disgusted by it. She yearned to return to her comfortable home, any one of them, where hot water, bubble bath, and air conditioning would welcome her much more than the slap of a wet leaf in the face ever could.  
  
Swatting another annoying bloodsucking insect, she hissed softly in irritation. As she had quickly found out her first day in the sweltering jungle, dusk was not a nice time to be outside. Looking over her shoulder, Rouge saw her tent, but dismissed the notion of retreating to it. Business came first. That had always been her creed, and it was why the haughty humans of Station Square had hired her as a spy on more than one occasion, even though she was a "mere mobian, and a jungle breed at that." Of course, most of those people were dead now, weren't they?  
  
She had not come here to reminisce.  
  
Or even to pay her meager respects.  
  
It was not a truly great secret that Miles "Tails" Prower had maintained a small base close to Station square ever since his visit there shortly after the 'death' of Robotnick in 3235. Built on a high outcropping of rock, it was in many ways his (and thus the Freedom Fighter's) 'public face' in the region, and it became general knowledge that he could often be found there after the near destruction of the Station Square at the hands of Eggman and the 'Perfect Chaos' monster over a year later.  
  
What was not general knowledge was that, typical of him, the kitsune fox had built another base deeper in the jungle, where he did his real research. And while the smaller and more conspicuous Mystic Ruins Base had been destroyed in early 3237, and was now little more than blasted rubble, the real base had survived into the present totally intact. Rouge found the deception wholly appropriate. Miles had mentioned to her once, in an unexpected moment of unguarded ness, that in some ways, the Eggman was one of his role models, and that he admired the man's tenacity.  
  
So: when Rouge had gotten a hold of one of the fox's documents pointing to the location of his real Mystic Ruins Base (Gold VII it was code named), she had not been particularly surprised. Acting quickly, she had gotten together the most trusted Mobians who had worked for and respected the young kitsune and Freedom Fighter (amazingly, Miles had kept detailed notes and psychological profiles of those who worked for or with him), promised them a handsome sum for their services, and taken off for Overland with a small air fleet of expensive top-notch hovercraft.  
  
It had taken a day to get through the blast doors, even after they found them. Once inside, however, Rouge's hopes had been confirmed. Inside the base was a treasure trove of technology, and even more important: data! After getting through the security locks (taking several more days of meticulous research and decoding), they had found gigabytes of simulations, theoretical writings, and conceptual designs. Even if nothing else was salvaged, the information gleaned from the foxboy's…  
  
Rouge smiled and corrected herself: the Miles she had known was no mere 'boy.'  
  
Even if nothing else was salvaged, the information gleaned from Miles' computers made the entire trip more than worthwhile. Still, much of it was heavily encoded, and some was totally inaccessible, even after hacking in. The kitsune's increasing paranoia leading up to his Turan'Ha had ensured that he kept everything under tight digital lock and key. Making things worse, some of the necessary relays went through a computer core with a mechanical switching mechanism that couldn't be bypassed electronically.  
  
Compounding her problems, she was expecting uninvited guests. Several agents under her employ had detected them earlier in the day, leaving airbases in Mobius Major. Watching as crate after crate, all marked by the two tailed yin-yang symbol of MilesTech, loaded up, Rouge felt a pang of loss and worry. Quickly shaking her head, and trying to forget his last words, she focused on the here and now. With the documents Miles had left her, and her semi-legal claim to it, MilesTech was effectively hers in all but name. It was, along with one other thing, Miles' legacy, and it wasn't safe or appropriately used hoarded in his Mystic Ruins Base anymore.  
  
It needed to be shared with the world he saved.  
  
For a… small profit, of course.  
  
Swatting another fly, she saw two mobians approach her out of the corner of her eye. Facing them, she confirmed that one was a member of Team Four – one of several exploratory teams of Mobians sent into the Base. Four, however, was charged with locating and accessing the Computer Core that was giving them so much trouble. The other mobian was just another of Rouge's MilesTech Security Forces: like every member of that group, he was a dingo in fatigues and armed with a bulky assault rifle.  
  
"Ma'am!" The tech said, as he ran towards her. "Samuel thinks he's found the door to the Core. He wants to blast through."  
  
"Blast through?" Rouge didn't like that sound of it, but they were running out of choices, given the expected arrival time of their guests. "Fine. I'll come along, too. I want to make sure it goes off without a hitch."  
  
"Of course, Ms. Rouge." The tech inclined his head respectfully, and headed back. Rouge followed at a more leisurely pace, ordering one of two demolitions crews to follow. The other continued their work of setting up explosives in preparation for the order to level the base itself. Looking over her shoulder as work continued getting the planes ready for take off, she sighed and continued into the hidden base through the blown open Blast Doors.  
  
The base was not overly large, really. Certainly, it was tiny compared to Eggman's cavernous constructions, but bypassing security systems that had been locked down for months was anything but easy work. For all the size of his many bases, Robotnick generally wasn't very good at security design. Many of his doors could be smashed through without negative consequences, for example. Miles, however, rigged counter-explosives into the doors defending important areas. Attempting to force one's way through would only set off the directed charges, with fatal consequences.  
  
The layout was asymmetrical, with different key systems fully compartmentalized from the rest of the base. Rouge, despite knowing the value of what she saw and heard had been found, did not even come close to comprehending it. When she had first walked down the main hall of the First Level, there had seemed no ostensible difference between one fancy looking panel and another in one of the Laboratory sections. Now, everything was stripped bare. Cut cables lay on the floor like dead snakes, and while sections of the walls had been removed or torn out.  
  
Descending via a large elevator, the small group exited at the bottom floor. The levels were not evenly spaced. One and Two existed, but then the next level was Four, and then a very small Six. Five and Three were just solid rock. The bottom floor was Nine, and composed of a descending shaft. Passing a succession of blast doors either blasted or hacked open, Rouge came at last to what the tech assured her was the last impediment to their accessing the Computer Core.  
  
Running her hand down the cool metal surface, Rouge wondered if Miles had ever done the same. How many times had he walked effortlessly down the hall, doors opening at his approach. Or, similarly, did he come here rarely? This deep down, the rock was incredibly hard. The first two floors were built in softer sandstone. Even the base power plant was not this isolated. There had to be something special behind it. She could feel it. She could feel him... see him…  
  
Walking through the door, a look of anticipation and eagerness on his face.  
  
Blinking, Rouge saw only the face of the door, and her cadre of hired hands. But the vision: it had seemed so real. So very real! She knew about the psionic powers of the kitsune, and Miles had bragged that his were growing exponentially. Had he affected her somehow? Was he continuing to, even after his supposed death? Or was it something else?  
  
"Take it down," she ordered, removing her hand. Walking back, she watched silently as the professional demolitions team, led by a former Freedom Fighter Miles had written about with praise in the past, set up the charges. The plastic explosive was designed to cut through the door exactly, without causing undue damage to whatever lay on the other side. It would also, if done right, prevent the counter-explosive from triggering. The team had performed the operation before several times, with success, so Rouge wasn't altogether worried. Still, she kept her distance once everything was in place.  
  
The actual explosions were rather muted. More of a 'thump' than a 'boom.' A thin layer of smoke wafted down the hall, while fans blew it back and out of the way. After a few seconds of waiting, a few loud sledgehammer blows knocked the door back and onto the floor. Venturing carefully into the room, behind the other mobians, Rouge's eyes scanned the low light conditions. A dull red emergency light highlighted strange cylindrical devices built into the walls of a circular room. The flashing beacon also occasionally lit up frozen faces – pictures – along with paintings, and the flat top of a desk. In the back, built into a large pillar wider in the middle than at the top or bottom, was the faintly glowing Computer Core.  
  
"This is it…" One of the techs took a step closer to the center of the room, and before he could say another word, a light shone down on him from above. Frozen in mid step, the shocked mobian gasped, and shielded his eyes.  
  
"Intruders Detected." A voice, a female voice, spoke to them over a concealed speaker. For a few moments, the group tensed in preparation for some sort of attack, but none was forthcoming. Finally, after a few seconds, the voice continued. "Detected, but not unexpected. Welcome, all of you, to the Inner Sanctum of Miles Prower. In particular, I welcome you: Rouge the Bat. I was hoping you'd come and see me personally."  
  
"Me?" Rouge took a daring step forward, her eyes scanning the room. "Why me? And who are you?"  
  
"I am the Core of this facility," the voice said, cheerfully. "Darling Miles called me… Fiona."  
  



	4. The Waiting Jaws of a Nightmare I

The Tranquil Sea was a vast expanse of endless waves, without a ship in sight. Years ago, before the rise of Robotnick, the planet's largest ocean had hosted great fleets of ships that plied its long waterways. Mobian and Human merchant ships had conducted business, and the fleets of the Terran Federation and Kingdom of Acorn had watched each other warily down the barrels of massive turreted cannons. When war had come (and it always did, between mobians and humans), the King's Fleets had always seemed to succumb to their human counterparts. In the last Great War, half the Royal Navy had been destroyed in port, because it was too timid to confront the Humans on the open seas.

Mobians had never been a nautical people.

Rising above the great seas, hundreds and then thousands of feet, past cloud cover, a flight of aircraft rumbled forward. At the center of the formation were seven large craft with long wings over laden with eight turbojet engines. They had been recently repainted in parts, and the single large tail sported the proud emblem of the Kingdom of Acorn. Escorting them were twelve smaller craft, sleek and deadly looking. They seemed to fall in step with the larger transports only reluctantly, anxiously holding back their true power for the right moment.

Leading the formation of larger ships was a transport with a few extra amenities. Most notable was the large radar dome attached to its spine. Inside that craft, a vast array of electronic equipment hummed and worked, monitored by dedicated technical personnel. This was the control center for Operation Rattrap. And pacing down the middle of the ship, pausing only to look anxiously at different displays, was its operational head. A mobian skunk of well over twenty years, with apparently unremarkable coloring, he boasted the uniform of the Royal Secret Service, such as it was – a simple black business suit, coat and tie. His sunglasses were nestled in his left breast pocket, leaving his blue eyes to scour the room for any signs of incompetence.

Footsteps from behind him drew more ire than attention.

"Hershey..." He pivoted slightly, looking at her over his left shoulder. She was dressed the same as him, except with a black skirt instead of pants. Hershey was a feline, a black cat with a sordid history. Duped into committing treason, she had been put under probation, and he, Geoffrey St. John, had taken a chance with her. She hadn't disappointed him yet, though her part played in the Battle of Knothole came close. She was supposed to have kept Princess Sally out of danger (and under strict observation). Hershey had failed plainly on the second count, and only succeeded in the first through no actions of her own.

"Geoff," Hershey replied, softly. "Is something wrong?"

"Wrong?" He asked, and looked away.

"You're tense... all wound up..."

"Of course I am!" St. John frowned, and clenched a fist. "Who wouldn't be? I have to pull this mission off perfectly! Perfectly, do you hear? We've suspected... no: we've known for some time that Rouge had been smuggling and stealing high security electronics and devices out of Knothole, but it was deemed necessary to wait and let things play out. The King himself ordered it. She just wasn't worth the trouble it would take to arrest her. But now... Now everything is different! The War is over, and..."

Hershey sighed, but let him continue. She had heard all this before.

"Now she has MilesTech. Ever since Stryker recognized her claim to the company, and handed over all the brat's dingo holdings to her, she's presented us with a golden opportunity! We know her loyalty to the Golden Throne is fleeting at best, questionable at worst, but with her damn lawyers... and with the destruction of her old hide out near Knothole, we don't have enough evidence to confiscate MilesTech. We need to wring a confession out of her, and we need to catch her Red Handed violating the Law. This... Operation Rattrap... is our last chance to get her, to really GET her, Hersh!"

"And when I hand the King her confession, and a chance to take over all of MilesTech..." St. John smiled viciously. "I will finally be Knighted! And the House of St. John will finally have its place in the High Court! After four hundred years of loyal service, St. John will take its rightful place at the right hand of the Royal Family itself! Father... Father had always hoped I would be the one to find my way into the Royal Company, but as that is an impossibility now, I will have to settle for a Knighting and a nice Duchy somewhere."

"I'm sorry you'll only end up with second best," Hershey said in monotone, holding back her anger. She hated when he talked like this. Didn't he realize how demeaning it was, not only to himself, but to her as well?

He gave her a sidelong glance, and smirked. "Don't be so... catty, Hershey. For a Noble House such as St. John, it is only natural to dream of the Crown first, and the Plowshare second."

"Pearls before Swine?" She quipped.

He didn't answer, instead preferring to change the subject. "Do not concern yourself about my anxiousness. I'm just eager... eager to get the drop on this cursed bat female. Seeing the look on her face when I slap irons around her wrists, it will be priceless! Simply priceless! From what I've read, it will take a little longer to get her to confess to her crimes, but if she doesn't on the way back home, a trip to the Ministry of Justice should change her mind."

"What about the Humans?" Hershey asked. St. John didn't like that question, and Hershey knew it. "What about the Dingo? They both support MilesTech's new CEO."

"The Dingo... and the humans," Geoffrey spat that last word in undisguised disgust. "Will learn to hold their tongues. Those hairless freaks just want her to sell them weapons... Even I didn't think Rouge would stoop low enough to comply with their offers, but then I get a message from Intel confirming that she agreed to supply them with Cyclone War Machines built to accommodate human sized pilots! If those factories were only on OUR land..."

Hershey sighed at the hatred in St. John's voice. Humans had killed his father, the illustrious Ian St. John, during the Great War. Geoffrey idolized his father with a religious furor, and he tended to blame humans for anything and everything. Because of her relatively easy association with them, Rouge had thus fallen into the category of human sympathizer – two words synonymous with traitor, in the mind of Geoffrey St. John.

Sometimes...

Sometimes Hershey wondered if her boss (and boyfriend) had been a part of Kodos' infamous 'Black Hands' organization during the Great War. The 'Black Hands' had been a fairly widespread group of Mobians, most of them young and impressionable, who had pledged to 'exterminate the overlander taint' on Mobius. They had formed special commando units during the War, and had targeted civilians, particularly women and children, in an effort to demoralize the human war effort. They had only officially been disbanded when Julian Kintobor took over in 3230.

Geoffrey would have been just turning twenty, then.

Had he been one of Kodos' 'Black Hands?'

The part of her that had been trained and cultivated to find clues and to investigate crimes confirmed that it was certainly possible. Geoffrey had never been keen to explain where he had gotten his commando training, even to her. Still, the part of her that was female cried out 'NO!' with every fiber of her being. She had spent hours just staring into his eyes, and she loved him! She loved him! How could she love a murderer – a child killer?!

'You loved Drago,' a voice snickered. 'You thought he was just misunderstood.'

'Shut up!' Hershey mentally hissed.

'How many times, after he yiffed your brains out, did he whisper kind things in your ear, and make promises he had no intention of keeping? You were at his trial, Hershey! You know he'd killed mobians! With those same hands that held you, he killed!!'

'SHUT UP!' She mentally cried. 'Just shut up!'

"Hersh?" She heard Geoffrey say, his voice a mixture of concern and annoyance. He was facing her fully now, one hand on her right shoulder. "Hersh, are you ok? Are you listening?"

"S...sorry," she winced slightly, partly from embarrassment, and partly from his hand on her shoulder. "I was just thinking about something..."

"Anyway: I said the Dingo will fall in line. They need us more than we need them." His hand fell away from her shoulder, to her unspoken relief. Geoffrey St. John then turned to one of the nearby monitors. It showed their position over the Tranquil Sea, and their approach to the continent of Overland.

Against her better judgment, Hershey seized an opportunity that probably wouldn't come again so casually. Coughing to get his attention, she pretended to look at the map very closely. Three powerful radio stations, one in the far south of Mobian territory another in the north and another in east, determined the position of the air fleet. The point where their signals intercepted provided the measurements necessary to calculate and confirm position, air speed, and other necessary data. Hershey was only abstractly aware of how the technology worked, but it did, and she didn't question it.

She instead pointed at their eventual destination.

"Overland. You know: before I read the reports on this mission, I didn't even know Overland had jungles." She looked at Geoffrey, as if expecting him to hide something from her.

"Overland has all the same climates and zones that Mobius Major does. Plains, Prairies, Mountains – two different mountain ranges, actually – forests, jungles, swamps... you name it." St. John crossed his arms and nodded to himself. "They're the same, but also different. Alien in a way. It's hard to describe, but you'll find out soon enough, I suppose."

"Have you ever been...?" She had to be sure, but at the same time she was afraid to get a definitive answer. "To this Mystic Ruins Base?"

"You mean the old one?" he shook his head. "No. The brat never invited me, and I never cared to visit him or his friends."

"What about... before that?" Hershey bravely queried.

For a second, she saw his blue eyes darken. 'What was he thinking in that instant?' she wondered. Was he pondering her motives, or was he remembering? Was he remembering months holed up in a submarine under the waves, avoiding Human patrol ships, never knowing when a depth charge would smash the hull and implode his lungs? Was he remembering scrambling up a deserted beach with a group of teammates, leaving behind an empty midget submarine, half submerged in the water? Was he remembering stalking through the underbrush, approaching some random human household – the doors unlocked and unguarded, the people complacent because of their far off offensives into Mobius Major?

Was he remembering... the unthinkable?

He blinked, and looked away from her, focusing on the map.

"No," he finally said, simply.

Too simply.

Hershey was tempted to try and find out more, despite her growing horror, but Geoffrey cut her off with a raised hand. Taking a few steps towards the communications station, he leaned over the mobian working there (a brown field mouse), and tapped his shoulder. The other mobian took his headset off one large ear, and waited for his orders.

"Tell the fighters to deploy their booster rockets," St. John said. "It's time to spring this trap."

"Yes, sir." The operator spoke into the microphone just below his lower lip. In a few seconds, on one of the large radar screens, twelve blips accelerated out of formation.

"I can't say I like using repainted, modified, Eggman contraptions..." Geoffrey said, his tone obviously more pleasant than before. "But if they, and their pilots, get the job done then I won't complain."

'Isn't it too late, now?' Hershey wondered, but kept it to herself.

"Publicly," St. John amended, as if sensing the contradiction in his last sentence.

"Do you think Rouge has any fighter craft of her own?" She asked.

"It is possible... Hell, it's probable." St. John shrugged. "But I doubt she's managed to jury rig more than a few. Our boys will cut her to pieces if she tries anything."

"And if she has Cyclones defending her?"

"We can handle a few stray Cyclones," Geoffrey answered, dismissingly. Seeing her doubtful look, he shook his head. Cyclone War Machines had developed an aura of invincibility after the Battle of Knothole. "Hersh, most Cyclones are built for Ground Attack, not Air Superiority. Why do you think the brat... Miles... why do you think he wanted to capture the Egg Carrier? He needed the Drone Fighters and the flying fortress itself for Air Support. Besides, I highly doubt Rouge has any Cyclones in Overland. They're too short ranged for a mission like this."

He made sense. Hershey acquiesced. "If you say so."

"I don't just say so," Geoffrey smirked again, confident in himself and his plans. "I know so! Mark my words: in two days time, we'll be eating dinner with the King, and toasting our victory!"

Hershey smiled in reply.

Geoffrey would lead them to victory.

Everything would work out, in the end.

-----

**THE CYCLE OF AGES: A NEW WORLD ORDER**

**CHAPTER TWO:**

_**The Waiting Jaws of a Nightmare**_

-----

"This is it..." One of the techs took a step closer to the center of the room, and before he could say another word, a light shone down on him from above. Frozen in mid step, the shocked mobian gasped, and shielded his eyes.

"Intruders Detected." A voice, a female voice, spoke to them over a concealed speaker. For a few moments, the group tensed in preparation for some sort of attack, but none was forthcoming. Finally, after a few seconds, the voice continued. "Detected, but not unexpected. Welcome, all of you, to the Inner Sanctum of Miles Prower. In particular, I welcome you: Rouge the Bat. I was hoping you'd come and see me personally."

"Me?" Rouge took a daring step forward, her eyes scanning the room. "Why me? And who are you?"

"I am the Core of this facility," the voice said, cheerfully. "Darling Miles called me... Fiona."

"Fiona?" Rouge instantly recognized the name. Fiona was one of the mercenaries Miles had hired to go with her when she infiltrated the Egg Carrier. She traveled with Nack's sister, Nic. "As in Fiona Fox?"

"He used to call me that, too." The voice answered, obliquely. "There is no reason to be afraid, Rouge the Bat. I have no intention of activating any of this facility's defenses, or else I would have already done so."

"Then why were the doors locked?" One of the demo team asked, daringly.

"The doors were hardwired to lock themselves, and even I could not prevent it, I'm afraid." The voice answered. "Perhaps it would put you more at ease to see me as Miles did..."

No sooner had it been said, than the large assembly in the back of the room parted down the middle with a hiss. As it folded back and away, opening like a flower, it revealed complicated machinery and electronics, cables and wires, attached to what the light quickly revealed to be a body. An upper torso to be exact, with two arms, and a head – a face, even - the face of a vixen fox, with dark black hair broken by a vivid dark blue highlights, blue eyes, and black tipped fox ears. As the rest of her emerged, Rouge saw a body that seemed almost flawless, well proportioned, with a short coat of brick colored fur, interrupted by jagged splashes of orange.

"Fiona." Rouge shook her head in disbelief. "You look like her... but..."

'Improved,' she mouthed but didn't say the word.

"By the Source, did Miles..." She instead said, "Did he build you?"

Fiona's mouth moved, but the actual words came from the concealed speakers in the walls of the room. "Darling Miles did not build me; he rebuilt me. I was the first of many Dolls modeled after the ...original Fiona Fox. A 'prototype infiltrator of exceptional design and programming,' is how Darling Miles described me. I was built by Julian Kintobor to seduce the sidekick of Sonic the Hedgehog, extract any relevant information, especially the location of Knothole, and then capture him for roboticization. Should that prove difficult, I was to terminate him. I was to succeed where my predecessor, the Sally Doll, failed."

"However, my greatest flaw was that, in making my body realistic to touch, it became vulnerable. Specifically: to saltwater." The Doll paused a second, as if wondering whether to explain in detail why it was allowed to enter field operations with such a glaring fault in design. It opted not to. "I was forced to pursue Darling Miles, but in the end became frozen in place on the same beach where we had spent so many happy hours. There I remained for what seemed an eternity, even for an automaton. I could think, and feel, but I could not move or act."

"Then, finally, my Darling Miles returned to me. He rescued me, salvaged me, and brought me here. He bypassed the parts of my programming that were subservient to Robotnick. Once I was informed of his death and replacement, a simple logical proof allowed me to regain my free will."

'Death and replacement?' Rouge wondered, listening to the story. This ... thing was a Doll. Like those Tails Dolls that had tortured her, and cost her use of her natural hearing. Narrowing her eyes at the fake Fiona, and the tone it used when it mentioned its "Darling Miles" filled her with a growing annoyance and disgust.

And jealousy.

"Eventually, he even fixed my body so that I could move again. I could walk with him through jungles and ruins. I could hold his hand, and feel it, just as I had been able to do years ago. However, my body was still delicate, and he wished me to remain safe within the base. By integrating me into the Computer Core, he allowed me to explore the world through it, and its many functions and facilities. After Miles destroyed the Doll production plant, and all of my copies, I became the last of the Fiona-model Dolls."

"Pity." Rouge lied.

"No. It isn't." The Doll's bright blue eyes swiveled to fall on Rouge. "The other Dolls were loyal to the Eggman. They would have killed Darling Miles, if given the chance."

"But you wouldn't?" Rouge asked, not intimidated in the least by the freakish creature before her.

"I love Darling Miles," it said, plain as day.

Rouge sneered, more than disgusted now. "You don't know what love is!"

"I was programmed to love him." It responded, simply. "In a way, I never had a choice. Nonetheless, I do love him. He is my Darling Miles. Of course, once he learned what I am, his love for me became something else... a fascination and attachment. Yet even I knew it was not the intensity of what I felt or him. When he saved me, he was no longer the sweet young fox I knew. He had become older, and less naive. My love for him, however, never diminished, even as his for me did."

"Enough of this." Rouge interrupted, not wanting to hear anymore. Turning to her hired hands, and the tech crew in particular, she continued. "Start packing this place up. We're almost out of time."

"You have less than you know, Rouge the Bat." The Fiona Doll said, a little more loudly than before. "St. John and his associates will be here in little more than an hour."

"What?" Rouge asked, looking at the Doll again. "How can that be?"

"Half his force is equipped with disposable afterburners. They will fire them shortly, and will prevent your craft from taking off unless you leave in the next thirty minutes. You may expect a transmission from him when he does this. He will believe himself quite cunning in catching you by surprise. 'Red handed' is the phrase, I believe."

"How do you know this?" Rouge asked, suspiciously. "And what do you want? It is obvious you're after something."

"I know what he will do because of the sensors and communications equipment still attached to this base. Most of it your people did not have the time or interest to remove or disable." The Fiona Doll managed a smile. "You are quite correct in that I want something from you, Rouge the Bat. I want you to release me from this Computer Core, and take me somewhere."

"Take you somewhere?" Rouge huffed. "What do I look like, a chauffeur?"

"If you wish access to Darling Miles' coded databases, you will cooperate with me," the Doll replied. "My request is not unreasonable. In fact, you may find it very profitable."

Rouge frowned, but didn't reject the idea outright. "What do you want?"

"Shortly after the battle that occurred over the city of Knothole, I lost contact with Darling Miles. I waited for days, eagerly anticipating a communication from him. Sadly, I received none. Shortly afterward, I noticed the military operations conducted by the Kingdom of Acorn against the surviving robotic forces that once served the Eggman. Seventy-one days ago, I intercepted a burst transmission on a signal used only by 'sub-bosses' within the Eggman Empire. Normally, these transmissions are coded beyond my ability to properly interpret, but this one was very simple."

"Not to say that anyone else on the planet seemed to notice it." The Doll said, with a trace of pride. "After all, I am only able to intercept Eggman transmissions because I was originally one of Robotnick's designs. I was able to decode it easily. It was a call for help from a surviving Doll."

"A Tails Doll?" Rouge asked, her level voice belying her anger. Beyond any other thing on the planet, living or dead, she hated Tails Dolls. They were pitiless, emotionless, personality-less demons. What they had done to her, and to countless others, was inexcusable.

"Yes. He wished to know if any other Eggman sub bosses, or Tails Dolls, existed anywhere else on Mobius. He had apparently fled from a base that had fallen to the Kingdom of Acorn, and was desperate to get in contact with any other survivors. I found the communication fascinating, and stored it for future reference. Three days later, he sent out another burst signal, more desperate this time. He feared that he was malfunctioning, due to his disconnection from the Tails Doll Network. He was beginning to experience emotions, among them panic. The next day, he sent another signal, expressing despair."

Rouge shook her head. "You didn't..."

"It was after that... that I decided to reply." Fiona confirmed Rouge's fears. "He seemed elated to be in contact with another Doll, even if it was an estranged and antiquated model like myself, built for infiltration and not command and control. We have had many conversations since that time. What I want from you, Rouge the Bat, is to take me to him."

"You have to be insane." Rouge answered, calmly. "To even think that I..."

"Darling Miles is alive."

"What?!" Rouge's eyes widened, before narrowing again. "What did you just say?"

"Darling Miles is alive," the Doll repeated. "A week ago, one of the other Doll's robot minions found his comatose body. I was able to convince him to let Darling Miles live. He is wary of fleshlings, and does not trust them. Take me where I wish to go, if not for your own material and financial gain, than for Darling Miles."

"You know...?" Rouge started to ask.

"Of course I do." The Doll's voice sounded almost cocky. "Darling Miles sent me regular updates from his workshop in Knothole. I know all about his affair with you, as well as his brief relationship with that Freedom Fighter – Amanda Rabbit."

'Miles... alive? I had hoped as much, but I never expected...' Rouge bit her lower lip, imagining her former lover in the hands of a ruthless Tails Doll.

"Damn you, Miles... I'll never forgive you if you die..." She had said to him, her last parting words to him, before he left the Nor'easter to face down the Helios Flying City. "Because I expect to see you again. Even if no one else does."

"Unplug that... thing from the computer core," Rouge finally said, after a few seconds of thought. "We'll do as it asks, for now."

"You have my thanks, Rouge the Bat," it replied, though Rouge made a point of ignoring it. As the technicians moved forward, examining the Computer Core and the connections made between it and the Fiona Doll, Rouge closely apprised the rest of the room. Some of the drawings on display were of Knothole (mostly schematics and infrastructure plans), and were obviously made by hand. There were a few sketches, too, of other (non technical) things. They were of fairly poor quality. In a strange way, it was good to see that Miles was genuinely bad at something, at least.

Other pictures were old photographs, most of them at least four years old. The first Tornado plane, Sonic standing over some broken robot, Princess Sally and Bunnie, Rotor holding up some small pocket computer... mundane things, really. There were books, too, and Rouge immediately ordered the demolitions staff to help her put them in cardboard boxes. Books were extremely valuable, as most had been lost during the war years. Almost all were technical in nature, and many were obviously overlander or human in origin by their size.

Seeing that in the process of being done, Rouge turned next to one of the two strange looking cylinders built partially into the right side of the room. She would have overlooked their smooth metal surfaces entirely, dismissing them as power relays or something similar, if not for the strange writing on the larger one. It looked like an 'O,' but with the bottom cut off, and with two lines splaying out. Searching, with her eyes and hands, for some sort of hidden switch, she finally found one near the back, where the metal met the wall.

Squeezing it, she took a quick step back as the metal face moved forward a fraction of an inch, and swiftly slid down into the floor. Behind it had been a more technical storage chamber, with a large T section of see through glass, and assorted monitoring equipment. Noticing what she had found, one of the techs ran over to inspect it while she watched. Behind the glass was some sort of robot. Of a model and design she hadn't seen before.

"That..." The fake Fiona spoke up, her voice coming not from the walls but from where she stood, disconnected but still near the main computer. "Is another one of Darling Miles' salvage projects. He called it 'Omega.'"

"Omega?" Rouge fixed the Doll a quick glare, and then went back to the mysterious robot. "It looks like a combat model. Why didn't he bring it to Knothole to fight?"

"I do not know." The Fiona Doll walked forward somewhat unsteadily, and Rouge took a step away from it when it came close. "My knowledge concerning Omega is limited. Darling Miles recovered him from one of the Eggman's bases five months ago. As far as I know, he is fully operational."

"Diagnostic readouts confirm that." The tech spoke up, closely examining the readouts on the containment cylinder. "It seems to be fully operational, though none of the weapons have any ordinance. Quite a package though. Much more than even an F-Series Combot or Shadowbot 'Plus' Type Refit. The schematic shows chain guns in both arms, modular short-range flame projectors, unloaded missile hard points, and some sort of experimental beam weapon..."

"Can you remove the stasis tube?" Rouge interrupted the mobian.

"It'd take a day at least, I'd think." The tech wiped his brow, and shook his head. "Nope. This thing is really set in place. There's no way we could do the job in less than ...ah... four hours. And even then we'd be cutting corners."

Rouge sighed. "Ok. You said its weapons weren't loaded, right?"

"Right." The tech looked from his employer, to the 'sleeping' robot in the tube. "But we don't know what its programming is, we can't risk..."

"Omega was being built as a bodyguard." The Fiona Doll added, cutting off the technician.

"A bodyguard?" Rouge huffed, dismissively. "That doesn't sound like the Miles I knew."

"I would be inclined to agree," the faux Fiona nodded her head, and in that moment looked exceptionally lifelike. "Likely, it was made for one of his close associates. Perhaps the Princess, or that Amy Rose female. I do know that he remotely altered some of Omega's programming priorities the day before the Battle of Knothole. It is possible he intended to give it to you. Or that other female: Amanda. It is even possible he intended it to serve me, in his stead."

"Not likely." Rouge snapped, but quickly collected herself. Looking at the static robot inside the cylinder, Rouge did wonder who it was for, if the Doll's information was accurate. Miles "Tails" Prower had a somewhat strange way of showing affection. All the females he had loved, to some degree of another, he had left or betrayed. Rouge was not blind; she knew how his relationships ended.

Sally, who had been like an older sister or even mother to him, he had betrayed. Bunnie, who had held a similar role in his life, was now more robot than mobian, because of his persuasion. Amy Rose was dead, taken by Shadow according to eyewitnesses Rotor and Bunnie. Obviously her presence as a hostage had not deterred Miles from destroying the formerly Flying City known as Helios. His first love, the fake Fiona (who he had mentioned to Rouge several times in passing), had ended up plugged into a computer. His second real crush, someone named Barbie Koala, had died at the hands of Shadow, buying him time to escape with a Chaos Emerald. He had left Amanda in what she had heard was a particularly cruel fashion. And, in the end, he lad left her to go and 'find himself' though some sort of self-sacrifice.

If he did leave this robot as a bodyguard, who was it programmed to protect?

She had to know.

She had to!

"We're almost out of time," Rouge finally said. "Just activate the thing. If we're lucky, and it doesn't kill us all, then it can help cart this stuff out of here. St. John and his jolly band of state sponsored pirates will be here soon, and I want an empty base filled with explosives left to greet him."

"Ah, yes, ma'am." The tech seemed nervous about what he had been ordered to do, but went to work regardless. Seeing him start, the Fiona Doll placed a dainty hand on the mobian's shoulder, causing him to almost jump out of his skin.

"Please. Allow me," 'she' said, with a demure smile. "Darling Miles' activation codes are often quite intricate."

The tech gulped, and anxiously smiled. "Ah, sure. If that's ok with you, boss?"

Rouge didn't want to give the damn Doll permission to do anything, but they didn't have time to waste sitting around playing with keys and panels.

"Fine," the she-bat acquiesced. "Do it."

Without another word, the Fiona Doll took one look at the controls, and placed her palms over them. What happened next was a blur of motion, as the fingers grew slightly longer, and rapidly entered a sequence of numbers and letters. The words "Reanimation Cycle" flashed on one of the diagnostic screens, soon to be followed by "Complete" and "Final Diagnostic Underway." When that, too was "Complete," the screen displayed the phrase "Omega Protocol Confirmed."

"It should only be a moment more," the Fiona Doll said, stepping carefully away from the stasis tube. Rouge looked warily between the Doll and the Robot, and tensed, prepared for a potential deception. She had taken out robots before, and she was wearing her steel-toed boots under her cargo pants. A good swift blow should be enough to stun it, at least.

With a familiar mechanical hiss of compressed air, the rest of the cylinder descended into the floor, revealing the imposing Omega Robot in full. It was a bulky thing, patterned in metallic red and gold. Top heavy, its massive arms gave it an ungainly appearance, but Rouge could see the tips of booster rockets attached to the lower back, and doubted it had anything but exceptional maneuverability. The head was built low into the stout torso, with one bright red round sensor optic (and a supporting thin rectangular one) showing out from beneath an armored metal hood. The strange, probably human, 'omega' symbol adorned its left shoulder.

"E One Twenty Three B series model, codename: Omega, is now active," it said, in a deep, obviously mechanical voice. The eyes moved imperceptibly. "No belligerent hostiles detected. Presence of Priority Idents confirmed: Fiona Doll 2.0, Rouge the Bat. All other organics considered expendable."

Holding up its hands, the robot looked somewhat saddened. "I am without ordinance for my primary systems..."

Then it faced Rouge and Fiona. "However, I will fulfill my Functions. Where is The Eggman? Standing Orders are to find and eliminate that organic target, and all associated devices and defenses."

'Some bodyguard,' Rouge mentally grumbled. 'More like an assassin!'

"Eggman is dead." Rouge quickly said. Next to her, the Fiona Doll nodded.

"Target silenced?" Omega's eyes flashed. "I had been hoping to eliminate him myself. Where... where is Miles "Tails" Prower?"

"Darling Miles is unable to give orders to you at this time, Omega." The fake Fiona walked up to the robot, and ran a delicate hand down its metal forearm. "I'm sorry. May I ask what your Secondary Orders are?"

Omega looked down at her, and then at Rouge. "Escort duty. Last Orders transmitted include the protection of subject: Rouge the Bat, for an indeterminate period of time."

Rouge's expression softened slightly. "So you are a bodyguard...?"

"That is one of my Functions, following the death of the Eggman. It was agreed that I would allow my programming to be built upon, so long as my primary Function, my revenge, was not tampered with. Rouge – what are your orders?" Omega seemed to perk up a little. "Do you wish anyone killed?"

"What??" Rouge gasped, shocked by the bluntness of the question.

"Do you wish any targets to be eliminated? Silenced? Terminated? Disposed of? Dealt with?" Omega asked, with a relatively pleasant tone. "It would be my pleasure."

Rouge's eyebrows lowered. "I thought you were supposed to protect me! Not kill off people."

"I do not see the contradiction." Omega shrugged his massive mechanical shoulders. Rouge was about to respond, when her communications radio buzzed. Picking it out from one of her cargo pants pockets, she activated it and held it up to her mouth.

"Rouge here."

"Ms. Rouge! We have nearly finished loading up the Transports. We will be ready to leave in fifteen to twenty minutes."

Rouge bared a small fang at the intrusion, but soon returned to normal. "You have five minutes. Then I want you to start sending off Transports. We have a lot less time that we originally planned."

"Ma'am?"

"That bastard St. John is hot on our heels," Rouge said with obvious venom. "I repeat: I want this place empty in TEN minutes. Ten!"

"Yes, ma'am!" The radio operator responded. Rouge put the radio pack in place.

"Rouge. Shall I stay behind and destroy this nuisance?" Omega suggested, helpfully. "I will make sure there aren't any witnesses."

"I... would prefer not to kill the King's right hand man, Omega." Rouge pointed to the Computer Core, which had been partially disconnected. "But I would like you to help those fellas take that upstairs for me."

Omega looked at her, and for a second Rouge thought he looked either surprised or insulted. Then, he asked, "Will I get ammunition later?"

"We'll see." The she-bat answered. "Now, will you help?"

Omega nodded, though really only his optics moved up and down. "I will."

"And what should I do?" The Fiona Doll asked, watching Omega go off to help the frightened technicians. Rouge fixed 'her' with a glare, and headed for the blasted door she entered through.

"You can follow me," Rouge said as she walked, and then added, looking over her shoulder contemptuously. "And you can stop calling Miles 'Darling.'"

"Oh? I didn't know it offended you." The Fiona Doll covered her mouth with her hand innocently. "But you have no reason to be jealous. Even though I am functional, ... Dear Miles never used me that way."

"Good to hear." Rouge continued walking, her arms crossed. "I guess I won't have to kick him in the balls next time I see him, then. Now, where can I find Miles and this damn Tails Doll boyfriend of yours?"

Behind Rouge's back, the Fiona Doll smiled slyly. "Not far from here. In the lands bordering that of Mercia and Cat Country..."

-----

Kabbal didn't think of his beloved homeland as a stinking jungle, even if that was what it really was. Walking across thick wooden beams lashed together with woven vines, he saved his feet the indignity of becoming muddied by the morning's rain. It was still drizzling, and the occasional pitter-patter of large drops falling from the leaves and branches high above mixed with the bellows of the occasional tree frog. It was their mating season, and the males were busy courting females... at the risk of their lives. The louder a frog croaked, the more likely it was to attract a mate. But it was equally as likely to attract a predator.

And the jungles of Mobius Minor certainly didn't lack predators.

As he walked through the inner court of the village, he saw warriors marching in step. They were all black in color, only natural as fellow members of the Panther Tribe, but the leader adorned himself with a high headdress of bird feathers, and assorted skins collected from fallen enemies, Feline or otherwise. He chanted a warrior song as they practiced marching, jumping, and thrusting with spears. Along among his troupe, he openly displayed a foreign weapon – a 'firearm.'

Such things were not unusual.

Many, many years ago, the tall hairless mobians of the North had visited the Land of the Panther, and given them the weapons in exchange for aid in their foreign wars. They had not complained when the Panther turned their new weapons against their old enemies, either. The Hated Jaguar were now only a memory – their temples had been raided, their godheads smashed, their villages burned, and their warriors skinned. While some had fled, most had been either killed or taken.

Kabbal had been a young and eager warrior, back then.

He had several skins to wear, should he ever again take up the spear and the gun, and several wives as well. During the war, he had not been at the front lines, but had instead served in the second wave – the killing wave, or the 'spear.' As such, he had not had the chance to carry away easy trophy wives, as some of his comrades had. They had taken most of the ripe Jaguar females, and at the time, Kabbal had thought them fortunate. Now, he was laughing.

Their females were now growing old, weary and bitter.

His were still relatively young and fresh.

Now, his sons had taken up the spear and the gun in his name, and he was an old man. If he did end up in battle, it would be as part of the fourth or fifth wave, the so-called 'tail' of the attack. But that was unlikely. The Tribe had plenty of able-bodied young warriors, and most commanders didn't even bother thinking about resorting to a fourth or fifth wave anymore. The times had changed, and Kabbal had changed with them.

Rattling the old worn bones cupped in his right hand, he chanted an old invocation ritual to one of the Forgotten Old Gods. "Abammu Abrahammu Lithammu Mortaeammu... Abammu Abrahammu Lithammu Mortaeammu..."

The old bones ground together, and he tried to interpret the sounds.

He had been reading the bones for years now, and had been an apprentice to Nabbal, one of the village's most respected Shamans. Nabbal had, in his last years, chanted about the coming of one of the Old Gods, but Kabbal had always been secretly skeptical. Now he knew better. Now he knew the Old Gods Walked once more.

Walked, and Trod upon those who opposed them.

"Abammu Abrahammu Lithammu Mortaeammu..."

In his rough palm, one of the bones chipped and broke, sending a sliver into Kabbal's flesh. He winced in pain, and watched, stunned, as a trickle of blood curved and wound a path down his palm to his wrist. His eyes were wide at the sight of it.

"An ill omen of things to come..." he whispered, and slipped the bones into a small pouch tied to a string that hung from around his neck. He then removed the sliver, and started at the blood stained bit of bone. He put that in an empty pouch that hung from his leather belt.

With less haste than before, he continued walking.

Up ahead was the Temple of Ysbaddaden, God of Panthers, Lord of Eyes. Like only a few other buildings in the village, it was made of stone, and unlike those few, this stone was hewn in the Days of Gods. The Temple was very wide at its base, but not particularly high. At the top lay the entrance to the Reliquary, where the ancient Godhead had once been. That ages old artifact was now broken, but in its place sat something far greater. A god not in stone, but in flesh.

Kabbal slowly climbed the steps to the top.

Behind him, he left the village and its comforting sounds: the sounds of footsteps, the sounds of laughter, the sounds of bartering and haggling. Now he could hear screams and laughter. Monstrous laughter. The Laughter of a God. Kabbal fought the urge to consult the old bones again. They had already given him an answer, and just as well, he knew his duty.

The entrance to the Reliquary was stained with blood.

Stepping through the archway, and pushing aside the beaded curtain, Kabbal was instantly struck by the smell of blood and offal. It was early morning, and the servants had not yet approached to clean the mess made the night before. Inside the Temple was dark, and braziers lay unlit on the floor. Still, he walked on. He had long since memorized the layout of the Temple in the years before their Lord's appearance. In the next chamber, Kabbal saw two of Ysbaddaden's Personal Guard.

They were suits of armor, animated through Divine Power.

At his humble approach, the two beings' glowing red 'eyes 'seemed to follow him. Their armored bodies were painted in greens and browns, like those of the forest, but were too dark to work properly in the jungle, and they wielded weapons similar to those the hairless foreigners had brought as gifts for the Panther Tribe. They never spoke, at least as far as Kabbal knew, but they let him pass, and enter the next chamber.

Here, there was blood on the walls, in smears and streaks. Kabbal had steeled himself, however, and continued on. The ancient stories had made mention that the Lord of Eyes was callous, aloof, and vengeful... none had spoken of this, however. Still, the old tales were only as accurate as those that remembered them. Ysbaddaden, besides, had a right to be displeased with his Chosen People. When all was set right again, he would bestow his mercy and graces on a grateful people.

Kabbal was sure of it.

In the largest, but not final, chamber within the Temple interior stood a small stone throne. It was, at least, still immaculately clean. Here and there, jungle flowers bloomed, their sweet scent mixing with other, less pleasant, odors. The Panther God was on his throne, looking calm and contented. Four more of his Personal Guard stood in unmoving, unblinking attendance. At his feet, looking far worse for wear than the night before, were several females: Panther and Jaguar. The rest of the Harem was likely cloistered in adjacent antechambers. Kabbal had secretly hoped that he would have caught a glimpse of Ere-La on his visit. The echidna female was the only of that breed he had ever seen, and she was the jewel of the God's Concubines.

"AH! THE PRIEST HAS ARRIVED AT LAST." The god's voice was a rumble that shook the walls, and hearing it made Kabbal tremble. "WHAT NEWS DO YOU BRING ME?"

Kabbal gulped. "The news, Oh Lord of Eyes, may be seen as either good... or bad..."

Ysbaddaden grew visibly upset. He was a massive creature, half again as tall as the most imposing Panther warrior. His midnight black fur rippled eerily, and never seemed to stop moving, as if shaken by some unseen wind. His claws were as long as most mobian's fingers, and his mouth was like that of a shark. His tail was longer than any other felines, and whipped and cracked like a writhing snake. Worse than his hulking frame, however, were his five piercing eyes: two where they should be, one in his forehead, and two in the back of his head. All glowed a terrible red, and had pupils of pearl white.

At his feet, Kabbal noticed that one of the Panther girls wasn't moving. Looking more closely, he saw dried blood around her neck and lips, her unblinking eyes staring forward in mute terror. From the angle, it looked like her tail and left lag had been broken, along with her neck. Kabbal kept his composure, however, and didn't let his eyes fall on the corpse for more than a few seconds.

"Great Ysbaddaden," he continued, bravely. "The Chieftain of the Tiger Tribe begs me to relay to you that he has found no body matching the description you provided me. Nor have they found any tracks indicating the presence of a foreigner, of any mobian breed."

One of the Panther God's great hands clenched, his claws scraping against the stone armrest of his throne. Two of his eyes blinked, but the other kept staring at Kabbal. The Shaman shuffled nervously where he stood. A few moments of terrible silence pervaded the room. Several of the God's concubines whimpered from where they stood.

"HE LIES," the Lord of Eyes finally said.

Kabbal bowed his head and closed his eyes. He had great respect for the Tiger Chieftain, and the Tiger People. They were long time allies of the Panther Tribe, and had always been trustworthy and respectable neighbors. They, too, had allied with the Humans in the years past, and had grown strong since crushing their more hated enemies to the west. Their leader was well loved, and he had treated Kabbal with utmost respect and hospitality.

The shaman doubted that the Chieftain was lying.

But who was he to argue with a God?

"HE... LIES!!" This time Ysbaddaden roared, and Kabbal fell to his knees, and touched his head to the floor. He felt something wet and sticky on his forehead, and distantly realized it was blood. But not his own. Not yet.

Not yet.

"THE VILE REPROBATE HAS FED YOU LIES, AND LIKE A BASE ANIMAL YOU HUNGRILY LAPPED UP HIS VOMIT!! MARK MY WORDS, PRIEST, THE TIME WILL SOON COME FOR A RECKONING WITH..."

And then, amazingly, the God of Panthers paused.

Kabbal looked up, his whole body shaking like a leaf.

For a few seconds, Ysbaddaden seemed transfixed, and then he spoke, far more calmly, "THE PROFLIGATES WILL HAVE TO WAIT. LEAVE HERE AND SUMMON TO ME THOSE WHO COMMAND MY WARRIORS. I WISH TO PREPARE A WARM RECEPTION FOR SOME... GUESTS."

"Of... of course, Oh exalted Lord of Eyes!" Kabbal quickly stood, and ran from the Reliquary. Wiping blood from his forehead, he clutched the small leather pouch that hung from his neck. He was alive! Unscathed, even! The Old Bones had predicted some calamity...

Perhaps it lay in the future.

For the moment, at least, Kabbal was just happy to still be breathing.

-----

"PURSUE THEM!"

"Sir..."

"Captain, I gave you your orders! Pursue those craft! SHOOT THEM DOWN!!"

"But sir..."

Hershey crossed her arms and looked away while St. John yelled into the communications headset. Things had not turned out as planned. On their approach to Overland, the advance squadron of fighter craft had reported that there were airborne vectors headed out of the local airspace. They were, quite obviously, the air flotilla that Geoffrey had hoped to catch by surprise. By the distances involved, they had taken off just in time to escape the fighter craft.

"How much fuel do you have, Captain?" Geoffrey shouted into the microphone. "Well USE IT! Chase them as far as the Mercian border. If you get a shot, even an unlikely one, take it! Do you hear me? TAKE IT!"

Hershey watched the control screen, and could see the small flight of dots heading towards the eastern part of Mobius Minor called Mercia. It didn't take a genius to figure what they were doing and why. Mercia was independent of the Kingdom of Acorn and steadfastly refused to allow military over flight of their territory. Worse, the one time Duchy of Mercia was a land of near chaos, the authority of the Grand Duke questionable beyond the borders of the capitol. Dingo colonists openly operated independent military garrisons inside Mercian borders. Without a doubt, the MilesTech air fleet was headed to one (or several) safe landing zones controlled by the Dingo. Any relevant Mercian authorities would either be bribed or cowed into submission.

Needless to say, St. John was furious.

"Rouge! Rouge! I know you're there! This is Geoffrey St. John, of His Majesty's Secret Service! You are to remand any and all technology, equipment, and documents, digital or otherwise, to the rightful ownership of the Crown, as per Royal Decree! The Peacetime Security Act of 3237 empowers me to confiscate any objects that potentially endanger the national security of the Golden Throne and the House of Acorn. By obstructing this, you risk serving a minimum of fifty years in prison! Is that what you want?! Answer me, damnit! You've gotten away with this before, I know you have, but I won't allow it this time! Turn yourself in now, or I swear by the Source that I'll see you hang!!"

Slamming the headset against the nearest monitor in frustration, the head of the King's Secret Service massaged his forehead. "This is a disaster. A total disaster..."

"We have the Mystic Ruins Base, at least," Hershey offered, hoping to boost his spirits. "They left in a hurry, so..."

"So they were tipped off!" Geoffrey interrupted with a snarl. "They knew when we left Mobian airspace, and they KNEW that I had those fighters modified with booster rockets! They KNEW! Someone betrayed me, betrayed the Crown, so his wallet could feel a little heavier! We have a traitor in our midst!!"

"Please, Geoffrey!" Hershey held up her hands and spoke softly, trying to placate him. "What's done is done. We need to try and salvage the situation, right? What about the Base?"

"The Base..." Geoffrey repeated. "Yes... we have that. Maybe... maybe we'll find some sort of evidence there. Something I can use...!"

"Exactly!" Hershey picked up the headset Geoffrey had thrown. Adjusting the frequency, she ordered the pilot of one of the commando loaded transports to make an approach at the base. Once they landed, and made an entry, things would look up. Rouge and her team had been chased off before they could finish their work. Hershey was sure of it. Her haste would make her sloppy.

Still, the thought of a traitor lingered.

A large number of mobians could have tipped Rouge off about when they took off. Even though Geoffrey had taken great pains and gone to great lengths to keep the time and occurrence of their take off a secret, it was impossible to keep everyone in the dark. That leak could have come from anywhere. The ground crew, perhaps. Or just an observant civilian keeping an eye on the airbase they took off from.

What was more troubling was that Rouge obviously knew about the fighter modifications, and made plans to escape that factored them in. Those had been top secret, specifically because Geoffrey knew that their actual take off couldn't be properly concealed. Thus, even if Rouge knew when they left, the rocket boosted fighters would be on her before she suspected they would.

But she knew.

She knew!

Had it been one of the fighter pilots? Maybe one of the Tech-heads that did the job? Who knew? But she knew St. John wouldn't rest until he found out. Still, all that was for later. There was still a chance to salvage the situation, and that chance lay in the hidden base just a few miles ahead, and a half mile below, their current position.

Miles had done well to hide the base, even from his own friends and associates. Several of his other bunkers had been found, both by MilesTech and by the Kingdom, but those had all been on Mobius Major, and hadn't been particularly well hidden. Some were little more than radio outposts, used to conceal vital communications coming into and out of Knothole. One of the more important sites had been Gold III, a hardened rocket hanger and bunker facility that made up the Kingdom's only satellite launch system.

It had been used only a few times, and the site had been bombed numerous times by Robotnick near the close of the war. Eventually, units of the MAF (the Mobian Armed Forces) had been stationed to guard the Gold III facility. Several low intensity attacks had been repulsed, and the base itself slightly damaged, but for the most part it was still operable and intact. In the months following the war, the King had ordered the base expanded with airfields, additional bunkers, and enlarged rocket hangers.

That, at least, had been a coup for the Kingdom.

But many of Miles' old bases, usually ones he rarely used anymore and instead handed down to other scientifically minded mobians he trusted, had quickly handed themselves over to MilesTech. The corporation had been quick to whisk away anything of real value, so that when the King's Men inspected the facilities they found only conventional research being done. All the radical work had been packed away.

It was frustrating.

Didn't they know that the Kingdom would compensate them for their hard work? Didn't they understand that critical areas of research belonged in the hands of the government, and not some money hungry corporation? That was how overlanders and humans worked, not mobians! The whole point of winning the war and defeating Robotnick was to rebuild the Kingdom of Acorn, wasn't it?

Wasn't it?

Hershey shook her head and cleared her thoughts. That sort of thing was for politicians and noblemen to mull over, not her. She was a soldier, and she was happy being one. It was a hell of a lot better than being a vagabond. Living life on the edge, roaming from town to town, always on the lookout for an easy buck, or an easy mark... it wasn't her dream, and it wasn't Drago's. It had just been all that they had. Now, she had her dream, and Drago...

He was in prison.

Thinking of Drago filled Hershey will mixed anger and regret, but there was no time to think about it. The present situation came crashing to the forefront of her mind with a vengeance. A warning alarm went off nearby, startling her, and a nearby screen flashed and turned to static for a second. Then, just like that, it was over.

"What the Hell was that?" Geoffrey said exactly what she had been thinking, and ran up to one of the mobians monitoring the situation. They were in an Airborne Control Center, coordinating the Operation, but there were no windows. The only views of the outside came via cameras.

"Sir!" One of the crew, Hershey didn't know his name, spoke up. He pointed to a picture on his monitor. "Sir, it looks like an explosion... several explosions, actually, in sequence, coming from inside the Base, sir."

"A self destruct?" Hershey asked.

"Don't be a fool!" Geoffrey snapped, his clenched fists shaking. "SHE did this! Rigged the whole thing to implode when we got close!"

To that, Hershey had no answer.

Left eye twitching, Geoffrey ran to another station, one displaying the blips headed out of the area and towards Mercia. They were still being chased by the fighter craft, but it was obvious they'd make their escape. He stared long and hard at the display, searching desperately. Hershey walked up to him slowly, and was about to speak when his eyes lit up, and he pointed at the screen.

"There! One of them is veering off! It's headed south..." He ran to another station, picked up a map, and held it up to the side of the monitor, comparing the two. His eyes darted back and forth, trying to make sense of the difference in scaling involved. "Where? Where is she headed? The course is too southerly..."

Hershey spoke, then, but not what she had originally intended to say. "What're you thinking, Geoff?"

"I think, Hersh, that our little flying rat has another roost in mind. She isn't going with the rest of her flight to Mercia. She's headed south, and then west."

Hershey didn't need to look at the map to know what that meant.

"Cat Country," she said, softly.

"Cat Country!" Geoffrey said, triumphantly. "She must think there's another base there. Or maybe she had some sort of rendezvous. Either way, its important enough to draw her away from a scot-free escape."

"How do you know its her?" Hershey asked, quickly. "I mean, that could be anyone. Maybe a rogue pilot or something."

"A rogue pilot headed for Cat Country? Doubtful. And there's no need for a diversion, either. She had her escape. All she had to do, all any of them had to do, was to keep going into Mercia. But this one... this one is turning south. It has to be her! I'd stake my reputation on it!"

It occurred to Hershey that he was staking his reputation on it, if he did what she thought he was going to do. Much to her trepidation, she found that assumption to be accurate.

"This is Geoffrey St. John to all pilots!" The skunk had already reclaimed his headset. "We have a change of course. This mission is not over, understood? Now, you will all do exactly as I say..."

Hershey looked at the map, now half folded against a keyboard.

"Cat Country," she whispered. "Why did it have to be Cat Country?"


	5. The Waiting Jaws of a Nightmare II

-----

Far below the lone transport plane, a landscape of greens and browns stretched for hundreds of miles. This was a different kind a Sea. This was a Sea of vegetation, thicker and richer than that of the infamous Great Forest of Mobius Major, sealing the land below off from the rest of the world. Only the most brave, or foolhardy, looked for trouble in this untamed land. History's greatest conquerors had either done their best to avoid the jungles of Mobius Minor, or had met their doom in them, as had those of the Dingo Hegemony centuries ago.

Here, even an apparent victory soon turned into miserable defeat, as one threat melted away into the jungle sprawl, only to be replaced by another. Above this land, the transport flew onward, seemingly aloof and far removed from the chaotic land below. Inside, comfortable within the forward cabin, Rouge sat, and thought. Glancing out of a nearby window, she could see what was below, and she could feel the apprehension that worked its way into her very core.

This was Cat Country.

It was also the land of her people as well.

Her father had hated the land of his birth, and had taken her mother to foreign lands in search of opportunities for their infant daughter. Rogue had never had reason to seek to return home. Her father's stories were ones of depravation, squalid conditions, and strange rituals. It had all seemed so... primitive.

So backward.

Then, one day, Rouge's mother had taken her hand, told her to pack some of her clothes, and to get ready for a long trip. She had wondered, then, why they were leaving without Father, who was at work. Bur, like a good girl, Rouge had played along, and did as her mother asked. They left the city that very day, and took a train west. During the trip, her mother had seemed very nervous, and had insisted that Rouge listen as she told stories about the Old Country.

"Why? What does all that have to do with me?" Rouge had asked, back then.

"I'm taking you home, Rouge – back where you belong," her mother had said, and took her young daughter's hand. "Back where we belong."

"What about Daddy?" She then asked.

"Daddy won't be coming... at least not at first..." Mother had mused. "But when he learns where we are, he will come home, too."

"But I don't want to leave," Rouge had finally said, after a few stunned seconds. "What about my friends?"

"They aren't your people, Rouge." Mother's eyes had glowed when she said that. "And they aren't your friends..."

"But..."

"Sssh!" Mother silenced her, just like that. "You'll understand when you're older. I promise."

'I promise...'

I promise.

Rouge frowned at the memory. Her mother had planned to sneak away. She had never grown accustomed to life in the Kingdom of Acorn, and she had tried to take Rouge away from a life – a civilized life – that her father had given so much to create. Fists clenched, Rouge silently cursed her mother to Hell. She had almost ruined everything.

Two days into the trip, Mother had been unable to find any easy transport further west, and on the third day, Father finally caught up. He had always been cunning, and intelligent, and he tracked Mother down single handedly. Rouge had a rather hazy recollection about the argument they had had that night, but she remembered that Father had saved her from Mother. He had taken her back to civilization. Back to warm sheets, and warm water, and her friends.

And Mother...?

Rouge didn't know. She generally didn't even waste time thinking about it. Now she did. Now she wondered.

'Are you out there somewhere, Mother?' Rouge wondered. 'Or did you die trying to make it back to whatever mud hut you crawled out of?'

The plane shook slightly, but leveled off.

Rouge sighed.

Across from her, two of her Dingo Guards were asleep, another was intently reading a book, and the fourth was cleaning his rifle. Rouge watched, glad for the distraction, as the soldier took his weapon apart with practiced precision, placed the pieces on the seat next to him, and cleaned the inside of the firearm. The look on his face... it reminded her of the look Miles had had when he worked on his mechanical toys. A sort of easygoing determination.

A sort of love.

"Ms Rouge?" The Dingo asked, looking at her and noticing that she had been staring. "Ma'am?"

"Oh! Nothing! Nothing!" Rouge held up her hand and smiled pleasantly. "I was just watching you work. It all looks so easy for you..."

"Well," The dingo grinned, a bit embarrassed. He was obviously not very old, probably only seventeen or sixteen. The youngest in the Platoon stationed to this Transport. "It wasn't very easy at first. But, ah, practice makes perfect, I guess. I got the hang of it eventually. Now... it kinds helps me feel better sometimes. Relieves stress, ya know?"

Rouge nodded, understanding. "Keep at it, soldier."

"Yes ma'am!" He replied, enthusiastically. "Ma'am? Do you think we'll be here long? I've never been to a jungle before, 'cept for the one we just left, I mean. And that wasn't as ... thick as this mess out there."

"We'll only touch down for an hour or two, I think," Rouge said, and gave him a reassuring smile. "After all, we've got His Majesty's Finest chasing after us. St. John's fighters may have pulled back for lack of fuel, but I have no doubt he'll chase me as far as he can without violating Mercian airspace. We'll land, do our business here, and be off before he gets within three hundred miles."

Rouge sounded confident, but inwardly, she had her doubts. Not only was the mission risky, but it came from an extremely dubious source. And, as if on cue, that source emerged from the door leading to the Transport's rear storage compartment. Fiona 2.0 not so much walked into the cabin, as she sauntered, her long perfectly manicured tail weaving back and forth sinuously. Her onyx hair, tinted by a highlight of extremely dark blue, bobbed perfectly in time with other parts of her artificially flawless anatomy.

As she entered, she batted her eyes at the Dingo soldier Rouge had been talking to before, and when she winked, Rouge felt her frown deepen. The dingo dogboy had a goofy grin on his face, and he fumbled with the ammunition clip in his hands. With a clatter, it fell off his knees and hit the ground, spilling its contents all over the floor. While he scrambled to catch all the rolling rounds of ammunition from scattering everywhere, Rouge saw Fiona turn away with hardly a care.

Rouge wasn't sure whether to be jealous, or just plain angry.

"I hope all your men aren't so nervous around me," Fiona said with a purr as she sat down next to the she-bat, and crossed her legs. "It could lead to all sort of accidents."

"He..." Rouge motioned to the dingo soldier on all fours, trying to recover the parts for his weapon. "Should have minded his rifle, and not his gun."

Rouge had been making mention an old military saying, and wasn't sure Fiona would have gotten it. In fact, she had been hoping that the phrase would go over the damnable android's head.

But it didn't.

"Too true," Fiona answered, politely, and covered her mouth as she laughed.

"Why are you up here for, anyway?" Rouge asked, cutting to the heart of things.

Fiona feigned shock. "Am I not allowed to come and go as I please?"

"That..." Rouge answered. "Is up to me to decide. Not you."

Fiona raised a delicate eyebrow, but didn't disagree.

"I came to see you, Rouge," Fiona said, and smiled.

"To see me?" Rouge was suspicious, and didn't hide it. "What about?"

Fiona's deep blue eyes lowered slightly. Rouge wondered for all of a second what they were settling on, before she made the connection. A little too quickly, she covered her midsection with her right hand. It likely would do any good, but she did it anyway. For a second, she saw in Fiona the unblinking eyes of a Tails Doll as it scanned her.

-----

_-----_

"_Initiating Punishment."_

_For a second time, a tidal wave of pain swept her away. This time, this time Rouge did scream. It seemed to last forever, this time: one endless stream of mind numbing agony. And then, just as soon as it had come, it was gone. The Doll still looked up at her, expressionless._

"_Punishment was administered for exactly 4.0 seconds. Repeating Question: What is the numerical and technological extent of the Freedom Fighter Army?"_

"_I... I don't know..."_

"_Answer is insufficient. Initiating Punishment."_

_Rouge writhed; her whole body felt like it was going to melt away. No screams escaped her parted lips, only a low gurgle as her throat muscles spasmed wildly. Nothing in her life had ever come close to the all-encompassing anguish that defined her existence at that moment. Worse still, as the pain reached a fever pitch, she found that she couldn't black out, no matter how much she wished she could. It seemed like an eternity before; finally, mercifully, it was all over. _

"_Punishment was administered for exactly 6.0 seconds. Repeating Question: What is the numerical and technological extent of the Freedom Fighter Army?"_

_Rouge's mouth took a few seconds before any real words formed, as small tremors of pain shot through her. "I... I don't know..."_

"_Answer is insufficient. Initiating..."_

"_Wait!" She yelped, tears in her eyes. "Several... thousand...mobians and dingo. Maybe two thousand in all. I'm... I'm not sure... I... I really don't know what kind of technology they have..."_

_The Doll looked at her for a long, terrible second._

"_Answer is insufficient. Initiating..."_

"_Wait! Wait, please! Let me think!" _

_-----_

"_Punishment was administered for exactly 2.0 seconds," The Doll said, as if nothing unusual had occurred. "Continuing Examination. Subject appears healthy and in excellent physical condition. Analysis also indicates secondary life form gestating within subject – genetic analysis will be conducted following subject autopsy."_

_Rouge gasped at that. "W... what?"_

_-----_

_Rouge opened her eyes. She hadn't dreamed, something for which she was thankful. No screaming. No nightmares. No soul-less Doll eyes haunting her from behind closed eyelids. Just peaceful sleep. Blinking a few times, she heard voices... _

"..._awake. Don't put any stress on her..."_

_Followed by a grunt of acknowledgement. She knew that sound anywhere. Trying to prop herself up with her elbows, she saw him walk over to the side of her bed, and place a large hand on her shoulder, gently pushing her back. _

"_Relax, Rouge," he said, voice a comforting medium timbre. "Don't push yourself..."_

"_Miles... I can hear..."_

"_I had the doctors install the finest cybernetics they had..."_

_Rouge looked up at him. He had been hurt – there were scratches on his face, and his hands were bandaged tightly. His entire right arm was wrapped up as well. But there was something else... something else about him..._

"_You... you look like a mummy..."_

"_Thanks a lot." He cracked a smile. "I don't know what those Dolls did to you, but I'll take it out of Eggman's hide, I swear..."_

"_Miles..." She saw it, just then: his eyes. There was a bluish tinge to them. A little faded, but it was there, almost overshadowed by the black. "Don't... I'm ok..."_

"_You could have been killed. I almost killed you." His brow furrowed, and he looked down at her with a sad expression she had never seen before. "And... and I don't know... if I would have stopped myself, if I had to do it all over again."_

_She reached out, and took his bandaged hand in hers. "I understand."_

"_Do you?" He grinned, and his hand gently squeezed her own. "Maybe you do. I've gambled everything on this. On myself. I'm starting to wonder..."_

"_You'll do what it takes to win, Miles." Rouge tried to smile bravely. "And I'll help you, if you'll let me. I don't know about love... but I need you Miles. I need you."_

_He looked at her for a few seconds, and nodded. _

_Rouge wanted to tell him... But she couldn't break the silence of that moment. It was the first time he had ever embraced her... that made her feel not just desired, but wanted. The first time he had shown vulnerability. Slowly, he lowered his head to her shoulder, and just held her with a sort of quiet intensity. Like a drowning man holding onto flotsam in the middle of the sea. Like a madman holding desperately onto the last shreds of sanity. _

_-----_

-----

"I... am only curious," Fiona said, softly. "I did not mean to intrude."

The look Rouge sent Fiona's way would've frozen most mobians in their seat. But, as much as Fiona understood nuance and intention, she could plainly not grasp them fully. She had not been programmed to be intimidated in anything but a physical manner, and certainly never from someone in Rouge's position. So the android girl just cocked her head slightly, as if not understanding the unspoken threat Rouge was projecting.

"I am not a Tails Doll. My sensor systems are not nearly powerful enough to make any comprehensive scans of..."

"Is this why you came here?" Rouge asked, less than pleased. "To examine me? To study her?"

"Her?" Fiona's eyes widened a fraction, and then returned to normal. "Ah! I see! You are giving it a preferential gender to empathize with it. Why a Her and not a Him? Surely Darling Miles would want..."

"Don't tell me what Miles would want!" Rouge snapped. "Don't you dare!"

"I was only making an observation. Were my conclusions incorrect... or simply ill timed?" Fiona's unblinking eyes betrayed no emotion. None whatsoever.

"The problem lies not with the message, but with the messenger."

Fiona didn't take insults badly. She didn't take them at all.

"Yes," was her answer, for what it was worth.

In front of the two females, the dingo soldier had finally finished collecting the ammunition and was almost done putting it back into the proper magazine. He still seemed flustered, though a large part of his embarrassment was now due to his little blunder. With a relieved sigh, he went back to his business, but Rouge saw him look up every so often. At first, Rouge thought he was stealing looks at her, and then she realized his eyes were a little too much to the side.

Fiona.

She wanted to tell the young soldier that he was ogling a robot, but decided not to make a scene. Instead, she looked to her right, and saw that Fiona seemed to be playing a similar game. It hardly occurred to Rouge that, just a few months in the past, she would likely have acted similarly. Rouge's already shortened temper reached a near boiling point.

What kind of a... a... whore... had Miles wasted his time rebuilding?

"Fiona..." Rouge said the name slowly, and Fiona turned slightly to face the she bat. "Just what are you doing? Didn't you tell me, and about a dozen other mobians, that you loved 'Darling Miles?'"

"I do love Darling Miles," Fiona replied, without a hint of deception in her artificially sweet voice.

"Then what were you doing, oh, ten seconds ago?"

Fiona blinked. Finally. Then she seemed to get what Rouge was talking about.

"Oh!" She laughed, again covering her mouth with the back of her hand. "I see what you mean. Please, let me explain: Contrary to what you may think, I was not built specifically for Darling Miles. My model of Doll was designed to ... work... on nearly any Mobian male. It was chance that the Doctor decided to use me against Miles, instead of some other male Freedom Fighter."

"So you were programmed to act like a tramp?"

Fiona shook her head, and then shrugged. "Yes. And no. I do not have the offensive weapons of most of the Doctor's creations. In fact, I am rather vulnerable to damage. As such, I must use other means to ensure the success of my mission in potentially hostile situations. When I first met Darling Miles, he could easily have destroyed me, and likely he would have, had I not endeared myself to him first. Thus, to survive, I must be, as the Doctor used to say, 'crafty.' And so I am."

Fiona's eyes briefly looked over to the dingo soldier. Her voice became slightly softer, but Rouge could still easily hear her as close as the two were sitting to each other. "Look at that male and the reaction I was able to achieve with him. By endearing myself to him, I plant the seeds of hesitation should he be ordered to destroy me. Even if he realized exactly what I am, this form, and the attention I gave him, will remain in the primitive part of his organic brain."

Rouge blinked, surprised. Was that condescension she heard?

"His hesitation, no matter how small, increases my chances of survival. That is all." Fiona managed a sly look. "I believe, Dear Rouge, you would do something similar in my shoes. You are, after all, quite an attractive female – I find it hard to believe you never used that fact to your advantage."

Rouge turned away, annoyed by the android's (accurate) statement.

"But no matter how I act, no matter what I say," Fiona said to Rouge's back. "My heart and soul belong to Darling Miles."

"You don't have a heart," Rouge grumbled. "Or a soul."

"I was not speaking literally, of course," the Doll replied, apparently not insulted. "Though, in truth, my whole body belongs to Darling Miles..."

"You'd have liked that, wouldn't you?" Rouge looked over her shoulder at the faux Fiona. "For Miles to give you what he gave me?"

Fiona's eyes narrowed for the first time. "More than anything."

"Hmf!" Rouge went back to looking away from the creature built in the image of a vixen fox, and made little effort to hide a small smile that found its way to her lips. "I want you to remember something, Fiona. If you betray us, if you've lied to me about Miles being down there..."

"You won't have to worry about him," Rouge inclined her head towards the dingo soldier.

"Or him." And the one still reading his book.

"Or Them." And the ones sleeping.

"Because, Fiona..." Rouge turned, slightly, the look in her eyes sharp and dangerous. "I'll destroy you myself."

To Rouge's surprise, the Doll drew back slightly, a somewhat shocked look to her features. Then, she got up off the seat next to the former government spy.

"If you'll excuse me," Fiona said, lowering her head a little. "I must check on Omega."

"Do whatever you have to," Rouge answered, coldly. She did notice, however, that Fiona's hips swayed more than was necessary on her way to the rear of the cabin. And the dingo soldier from before... his eyes weren't on the half assembled rifle in his lap.

In the rear storage compartment, three dingo soldiers were tending to Omega. They had jury-rigged a large storage crate to hold the robot in place, while they loaded it (him?) with ammunition. Both of Omega's massive forearms had been opened – a trick hatch provided access for reloading, and had been unlocked. A string of ammunition was being slowly belt fed into his forearms, each bolt loading with a small 'click.'

Fiona walked around to Omega's side.

"How are you, my friend?" She asked with seemingly genuine concern. "You seem somewhat sad."

One of the dingo soldiers monitoring the feed of ammunition looked at her curiously, as if to ask, 'How can you tell?'

"There is not enough ammunition here for my chainguns." Omega replied, tilting his head a little to 'face' Fiona. "I will not be operating at full capacity. It is possible that the achievement of my mission objectives may be impaired by this deficiency."

"I'm sure you'll do your best, Omega.' Fiona smiled up at the robot, and then turned to the other mobians present. "I want you to do your best, Omega. You have to."

Her next words were spoken so low even Omega never heard them.

"Dear Rouge didn't bring as many troops as I had hoped." The Doll then smiled, mysteriously. "But nothing is certain in this endeavor. Not even betrayal."

-----

The transport was, unlike a more conventional plane, STOL (Short Take Off and Landing) capable. Still, simply finding a place to land had been difficult. The pervasive jungle looked thick and intimidating from above in part because it was so unbroken. A small clearing had eventually been found, however, and enlarged after a few passes with the transport's self defense guns.

On the ground, entering the jungle was like entering another world.

Even compared to the semi-jungle they had left behind earlier, this was a strange place. Massive irregularly shaped trees reached dizzying heights, and twisted and gnarled vines snaked up every titanic trunk. It was oppressively wet, and loud with the sounds of insects and amphibians. Up in the branches of a tree, strange creatures hooted and growled and jumped, occasionally raining down bits of chewed fruit or leaves.

Rouge grimaced, as she stepped in another muddy puddle.

The ground was soft, almost porous, on the route Fiona led them. Omega had a difficult time, but slogged forward in the middle of their group. The she bat noticed that the dingo soldiers behind her tended to follow in the large robot's footsteps, where the ground had been nicely compacted. Those in front were less fortunate, and their black boots ended up half brown. At the head, Fiona stepped more lightly, keeping her knee high dark blue footwear from becoming too dirtied.

Up ahead, another of those strange creatures hooted and howled. It, and its fellows, danced among the trees above, happy to announce to the entire jungle the presence of strangers far below. Stepping over a long line of ants, marching tirelessly forward to some unknown end, Rouge held out a hand to the nearest dingo.

"Borrow your helmet for a moment, soldier?"

He nodded, and took off his helmet. She was the boss, after all. Handing it over a little reluctantly, she saw his grip on his rifle tighten. No doubt, he felt a little more vulnerable without his headpiece. Dingo, she knew, felt very protective about their equipment. The helmet she held in her hands had a little personalized picture of a female on it, in a rather risqué pose. She smiled, and put it on her own head. It squished her ears (which were, after all, much larger and differently shaped than those of any dingo), but she resigned herself to the momentary discomfort.

Flipping down the right eyepiece attached to the helmet, she saw the HUD activate. The contrast adjusted quickly, scanning through green, and then black and white, and then a normal hue. Looking upwards at the strange sounds, Rouge reached up to the side of the helmet, flipped open a small panel, and adjusted the HUD sight. It started to zoom, at first just a little, and then by a larger increment. At maximum zoon, (36x) she finally saw what was making all the noise.

Monkeys.

Or apes... at this distance, it was difficult to tell the difference.

Watching them, she tried to picture the relation they had to humans, and found it impossible. Most mobians looked very much like their wild cousins. Dingo, and all mobian canines, looked basically like wild dogs. Mobians squirrels and foxes looked like wild squirrels and foxes. Mobian bats were one of the few breeds that proved the exception rather than the rule. They had separate wing structures, and faces far closer to 'mobian standard' than those of her wild cousin species. In the same vein, the humans she knew bore little resemblance to the creatures in the trees.

Zooming out, she reset the HUD and handed the helmet back over to its rightful owner. The dingo soldier (a corporal, by the markings on his collar and shoulder) nodded silently, but gratefully, and put it back on his head. Lowing the eyepiece in place for his own use, he visibly looked less tense as he scanned the jungle for threats. Rouge noted with some surprise that the dingo had armed himself with a shotgun, instead of the standard assault rifle. She had heard of shotguns, of course (one of MilesTech's newest contracts had been to produce and sell several shipments to the overlanders and humans), but she had never seen one fire.

As the group continued walking, Rouge kept her eyes on her watch.

They still had plenty of time.

After a few more minutes, one of the dingo she recognized by face and name slowed his walking, so that he was right in front of them. He was a big fellow, with a craggy black goatee under his chin, and a bit more extra hair below his nose. He wore the same combat fatigues as all the other members of the rather hastily assembled MilesTech Security Force. The uniform was essentially identical to that of the Dingo Hegemony field dress (with an armband displaying the letters MTSF), by virtue of the fact that all of the dingoes were former military, anyway.

"Sergeant!" The Corporal next to Rouge saluted. The name on his uniform said: 'Crp. von Mass, Conrad.' Rouge figured he was second in command in the unit they had assembled, and decided to commit the name to short term memory. The other dingo she knew. He was Master Sergeant Heinrich von Elbe. She knew him because he was, after all, the mobian in charge of her personal security.

"Corporal," von Elbe answered. "According to the little lady at the front, we're approaching our destination. I want you to take a three dingo squad around to our right flank and scout out that area and to provide suppression fire if necessary."

"Why that area, Heinrich?" Rouge asked, not feeling out of place interrupting. She was paying everyone present, after all. "Why not the left?"

"Our left Flank is covered by a swamp, Boss," The Master Sergeant responded, his tone respectful. "If we're dealing with Combots, and it looks like we will, they'll be slowed moving through it, and their cloaks won't function when they get wet."

Rouge nodded.

"How about Simons, Kelly and Grant?" von Mass asked.

"That's fine, but keep a tight leash on Grant. She has an itchy trigger finger." Sergeant von Elbe inclined his head to Rouge. "Boss, would you come with me?"

Rouge did so, and followed him ahead of Omega. Behind her, she heard Corporal von Mass get his three privates together, and head off. Brushing past some hanging vines, with leaves as large as her head, Rouge came up alongside Fiona and the dingo that had been assigned as her temporary bodyguard. It was the same young dingo from the plane that had been drooling over her, and he seemed pleased by the position he'd been put in.

"Stay behind me, if you would, ma'am." Heinrich had a large weapon in his hands, and it wasn't an assault rifle. Rouge had never seen it before, actually. The dingo guarding Fiona had a rifle, and the one next to Omega has one of the team's two Squad Automatic Weapons (or SAWs).

It struck her as a little odd.

Normally Heinrich used the same dingo assault rifle as his men, though he was perfectly capable with a SAW, shotgun or sniper rifle. Then again, most security threats now-a-days were flesh and blood mobians, not the vanquished legions of robots that had supposedly been exterminated months ago.

They entered a very small clearing, and there Fiona paused.

At the opposite end of the glade floated one of Them. Rouge shuddered at the sight of it – she still had nightmares of them capturing her, torturing her... And sometimes they did things they hadn't had the time for in real life. In some of her nightmares, they opened her up, recording her screams with emotionless curiosity. Always, they were looking for something. Looking for something:

Fascinating.

This Tails Doll, however, was not floating eerily, as the ones she remembered did. Instead, it was using the long silver tendrils that came out from its shoulders to hold itself up. Rouge watched them warily. She knew all to well what those things could do. At least, this time around, if it tried its Sonic Scream she would remain unaffected. Her inner ears were cybernetic, now, and immune to that sort of attack. The tendrils, despite their terrible power, could be avoided. She'd proved that on board the Egg Carrier.

Behind Rouge, Omega straightened up and scanned the area.

"I find it unlikely you came here alone." Fiona said, raising her voice to be sure that the Doll could hear her. The Tails Doll didn't answer, but to its sides, four Combots de-cloaked. Rouge looked quickly to Heinrich, and saw him smiling.

'Good," Rouge thought, 'He knew they were there.'

Combot cloaking mechanisms had been broken well over a year ago. While nearly invisible to the unaided mobian eye, they were relatively easy to spot using the right equipment. Still, Combots were nearly invisible to thermal imagining, which was the only thing allowing a soldier to see an enemy through all the jungle foliage. Where high tech camouflage failed, low tech would likely succeed.

"Fiona," the Tails Doll finally spoke, but its voice seemed... off, somehow, to Rouge. Almost emotional. Eager! Eager was what it was. "Fiona. Come to me. We have much to discuss."

Fiona did take a few steps forward, then stopped. "Where is Miles? You said you found him."

"He is safe." The Doll's body swayed slightly as it spoke. "I will take you to him."

"Very well." Fiona took a single step forward, pivoted, and ran back towards the group. "IT'S A TRAP!!!"

"WHAT?" Rouge gasped, before a heavy body slammed into her, and forced her to the ground. She heard someone yell, "FIRE AT WILL" and recognized the voice as Heinrich's. Face in the muddy ground, she realized that he had probably thrown himself over her. He was easily large enough to shield her entire body with his own.

And then all hell broke loose.

The jungle roared with the sounds of an intense firefight. Close by, Rouge heard the steady burst fire of rifles, and the more sustained 'rat-a-tat-tat' of the heavy automatics. Moved occasionally was a heavier 'ka-chunk' of what she assumed to be the occasional shotgun. Further away, something exploded – though whether it was a grenade or a Combot she wasn't sure. Harder to hear were the pulses of plasma fire, that hissed quietly though the air before finding their target.

And then the screams started.

Above her, Heinrich was propped up on one elbow, firing at a target Rouge couldn't see. Feeling her move, he shifted slightly to let her get out from under him and run for cover. She knew the drill. She had been in combat before. Her close combat skills were impressive, and she carried a knife and a pistol for emergencies, but in this sort of firefight her best option was to fall back. She just didn't have the equipment to exchange fire with the sort of opposition they had in front of them.

Rolling and then getting up on all fours, Rouge started to scurry. Her dingo guards were shouting orders to each other from every side, and two more explosions shook the jungle foliage. Amid them, Rouge heard a loud whirring, and then the sounds of metal sheering and breaking. Nearby, plasma fire splashed against a tree, leaving a charred blackened crater large enough to put a fist in. Just a foot from her right hand, a plasma blast turned the mud and leaves of the jungle floor into a burned streak.

Pushing through a bush and past wet leaves, Rouge grew bolder and stood upright. Running, she took a second to look over her shoulder. Without even thinking, her eyes focused on the Tails Doll at the far end of the clearing. It had several holes blown in it, including a gaping hole in its face, but it seemed unconcerned. Then, with eerie ease and grace, the Doll leaped up into the trees, silver tendrils finding purchase in bark and branches.

'Oh god! It saw me!' Rouge faced forward and kept running. Before she realized it, she was headed for the swamp Heinrich had mentioned, and in no time she was knee deep in muck. Through the firefight that was still raging relatively nearby, Rouge's sensitive cybernetic ears heard movement. Slowing down, and crouching, she saw shapes moving through the swamp. At first, the she bat thought they were dingo – maybe the Corporal von Mass's group, somehow?

But they weren't.

The shapes were too lithe to be dingo, too small. Too nimble. And some looked like they were armed with melee weapons: javelins and spears of some sort. Many had long thinly furred tails.

'Felines!' Rouge cursed and backed up against a tree. 'What the HELL are they doing here?'

And then she frowned. 'Stupid question. This IS Cat Country after all. But what are they doing here, and now?"

And then something snapped. Looking at her offending elbow, Rouge saw that it had broken a rotted old branch that had fallen from the tree to lean against the trunk. A couple dozen irate insects were scurrying out of their broken home at her feet. Gritting her teeth, she heard the formerly silent felines begin to speak. One of them barked words in a strange language.

It didn't take a degree in linguistics to get the gist of what he was saying.

Making a quick decision, Rouge's hand passed over the pistol holstered around her right leg to rest on the tree trunk. Sinking her finger claws into the wood, Rouge briefly tested the material, before she began to climb. As she did so, she felt herself breathing heavily, and reasoned she was slightly out of shape. Still, she managed to gain a fair amount of height quickly. Looking down, she saw three Panthers looking around, (one with some sort of submachine gun) but not up.

Rouge sighed in relief.

Still, she was exposed at her current height. Climbing on, she finally got to the canopy of branches near the top of the massive tree. Far below, she could see the occasional flash of a rifle, and the less frequent explosion of a grenade going off. What truly worried her, however, was that she had last seen the Tails Doll heading for the trees. That thought, more than any other, made her decide to get back on the ground as soon as possible. Jumping from the tree, she glided through the air.

Luckily, she didn't provoke any gunfire from below. 'Perhaps,' she began to wonder, 'they didn't know I was coming.'

Jumping off another tree, Rouge paused, and reached up with one head to her right ear. Behind the ear itself, where it met the back of her head, she unlocked and pushed back a small flap of artificial skin. Having cybernetic ears gave her a few more options that she had had in the past. Adjusting a small dial that the flap had exposed, she heard crackling, and then finally, voices.

"MOVE MOVE MOVE!!"

"Kelly's down! We need a medic!"

"Fall back to the Transport! Omega here will provide covering fire!" That was Heinrich's voice. "Von Mass – I'm leaving you in command! I'm heading around the left to find the Boss! I don't think the Robot will leave without her, either, so you'll likely have to take off without us!"

"Heinrich!" Rouge spoke, and trusted in the ear-radio to work properly. "Heinrich, this is Rouge! Do you copy, over?"

"Boss?" He responded. "Where are you?"

"Trees." Rouge looked around, still nervous that the Tails Doll would come up from behind at any moment. How had it stayed so mobile with the damage it had taken?

"Heinrich," Rouge said, and took off in flight. "I'm coming in from above. Do NOT fire at anything coming down from the trees."

"Right, Boss. I'll tell the grunts. Good timing, too. That thing's Combots have fallen back. It doesn't look like they're eager to pursue."

Rouge gasped, as she realized exactly why that was. "Heinrich – you're going to be hit from the swamp!"

"What?" The dingo sergeant sounded incredulous. "But no Combot would..."

"Not Combots!" Rouge winced, as another explosion came from below. "Natives! Panther Tribe!"

"What? Natives!?" Heinrich's voice became cut off by gunfire. "God Damn it, you're right! There's hundred of..." More gunfire. "We've got to..."

"Heinrich?" Rouge yelled, then quickly reset her audio feed. Normal noises became easier to hear, and she maneuvered off another tree, towards where her men were. Back flipping off a large trunk, Rouge angled her wings and streaked in low and fast, but managed to land on her feet near where Omega was firing into the forest. The large robot had one arm pointed in one direction, and the other at a perpendicular angle.

Omega had several scorch marks on him, but he was largely none the worse for wear. Fiona looked a lot muddier then before, but intact (to Rouge's annoyance). The Doll was currently hiding behind Omega, arms crossed in apparent contemplation. Rouge forced herself to ignore the damned android. Omega was none the worse for wear, but her security force was in far worse shape.

They lad left with five troops, not including Omega or Fiona, and now were down to three. Heinrich was still mobile, and (with Omega) was covering their retreat. Another dingo, whose name Rogue didn't know, was assisting the two with his SAW. Behind them, a female dingo (who looked to have a bullet wound through her left ear) was trying to treat another dingo, a male, with two plasma burns – one on his left leg that was already covered with gauze, and another much messier blast that had hit his collar and burned his face.

"AFRAMMU!!" Several Panther warriors crashed out from the bush, screaming and snarling in their native language. This time, in the company of others, Rouge did reach for and draw her pistol. It was not a particularly powerful model, but when the little blue ball of plasma it fired hit the closest Panther square between the eyes, the lack of punch proved to be a moot point. All it changed was that he fell forward, dead, instead of backwards, crumpling like a deflated balloon.

Next to the heavily injured dingo, the female quickly raised her rifle, and sprayed. Caught slightly off guard, her accuracy was far from perfect, but at such a close range it hardly mattered. Two more Panthers fell, screaming strange words. The last, the band's apparent leader, had a gun but didn't think to use it until he was just a few feet from his targets. In the second it took him to get his gun ready to fire, a shotgun shell met his chest, and sent him flying back against a tree in a spray of crimson blood.

Intermittent gunfire clattered, mixed with the occasional snipe by circling Combots. Another group of Panthers emerged from the foliage soon after, also screaming some sort of war cry. They made the mistake of charging Omega. Two were mowed down instantly, including the leader, and the other three hastily ran back from where they came. At a seemingly abyssal pace, the group of survivors fall back. Nearly at the clearing where the transport had landed, the dingo with the SAW simply fell backward, half his head missing.

He had been hit in the eye by a plasma round, and his helmet had simply been blown clear off. Rouge suddenly felt sick, staring into the cooked remains of the soldier's head. It was a feeling she had been well acquainted with for a few months (if Miles had been around, she would have made sure to 'thank' him for it), and had dearly hoped never to experience again. Now it came with a vengeance. Finding some measure of privacy behind a tree, she threw up what little she had recently eaten.

No one seemed to care.

Heinrich kneeled down next to the body as they kept falling back, reached into the dead soldier's body armor, and pulled out a pair of dogtags. They may as well have been the dingo soldier's soul, because the rest of the team had no problem leaving the dead body behind. Or maybe it was simply because they couldn't afford to be weighed down. Rouge was not sure which. For all she had learned of the dingo over the last quarter year, she had little notion of what religious beliefs, if any, they had.

"AFRAMMU!!"

The war cry brought yet another savage attack from out of the jungles, this time from every side. Panthers melted from out of the foliage, hooting and howling. Some threw their spears, and others fired wildly with semiautomatic weapons. It was inaccurate fire, but it made the small group slow and take cover. Rouge stuck close to Omega, who seemed to be overwhelmed by the number of targets present. The big robot swiveled on his torso, firing all around him. The tactic worked.

Until he ran out of ammunition.

The heavy 'click ka-click' of his now empty ammunition reserves precluded a charge from the remaining Panthers. Several of them swarmed near Omega, serving only to keep the robot occupied. Others passed by the half bandaged wounded dingo, and leapt at Private Grant (Rouge was amazed she remembered the name). She shot at least one, but he fell forward, and may still have been breathing. Rouge lost sight of her as she struggled, hand to hand, with the remaining two.

One reached for Rouge, but his upper body disappeared in a bloody fountain, soaking the she bat with blood. Strong hands – gloved hands – grabbed her left shoulder and lifted her to her feet. Yet another Panther rushed towards her, past the bloody body of his comrade, only to receive the butt of a rifle to the face. He fall back, hissing.

Next to her, Sergeant von Elbe lowered his assault shotgun, useless now that he was out of ammo, and took out two pistols. They were big mean looking Dingo models, and Rouge's body shook when they fired, sending large brass shell casings through the air in front of her. Heinrich kept her close so she couldn't be grabbed by any of the Panther warriors, but Rouge wasn't about to sit back and do nothing.

Ducking under his left arm, she snap kicked a Panther in the chest, before shooting him twice. He hissed as he fell, his rifle shooting harmlessly into the air. Looking around, Rouge saw Fiona struggling with a Panther warrior who was obviously trying to subdue her. For all of a second, she contemplated letting her be dragged off (like poor Private Grant had been), but quickly decided against it. Rouge just wasn't that sort of mobian.

Taking aim, she dropped the Panther with a single shot to the back of the head.

Fiona turned to see where the shot had come from, and smiled when she saw who had saved her. "Dear Rouge. You have my thanks."

"Don't thank me yet." Rouge pointed to the wounded dingo on the muddy ground. The Panthers seemed to have completely overlooked him, likely assuming he would die in a few hours anyway. "Now: Pick him up and fall back to Sergeant von Elbe!"

Fiona looked at her curiously, as if disbelieving, and then at the wounded mobian. "But... his wounds are too great. He will not survive more than ten hours."

Rouge just narrowed her eyes. "Do it."

Fiona probably wanted to argue, but given where they were there was no time. With a huff, she ran over, took the dingo by his uninjured shoulder, and dragged him back and out of the fray.

"Omega! Turn around!" Rouge heard Heinrich yell, and watched as the robot did so. There were still four Panthers trying to tie Omega up, but they ceased to be a problem in a handful of seconds. One by one, they dropped as the dingo sergeant unloaded two clips from his pistols. The remaining shots bounced harmlessly off Omega's hide.

Expertly reloading both pistols, without even letting them leave his hands, Heinrich motioned for the group to run the rest of the way before the remaining Panthers regrouped or the Combots advanced. Rouge and Fiona went past him, Rogue leading the way as she was the only one with a weapon. Omega followed, and quickly took the lead. He had no ranged capability, not anymore, but he was confident and powerful in a melee. Von Elbe held back, his gunshots keeping any pursuers at bay.

In what seemed like seconds, they reached the clearing.

And saw the Transport they had flown in on in flames.

Staring at the damage in shock, Rogue didn't even have time to curse, before concealed Combots and Panthers opened up with plasma and gunfire. For a second, she wondered how they had managed to wreck the parked Transport, and then her unspoken question was answered by a small gray contrail headed in her direction.

"RPG!!" Rouge dove for the ground.

Before she knew it, a large black and red shape was in front of her. The RPG exploded against it with a sound like thunder, kicking up smoke and blasted mud. Burning bits of foliage fell to the ground, and Rouge quickly realized that Omega had taken the blast himself, protecting herself and Fiona. The robot slowly rose off his knees and to his feet.

Pivoting, Rouge saw that his arms were blackened and one was slightly damaged.

"We can not stay here," Omega said to the two, and then faced the other side of the clearing again. Footsteps from behind then caught Rouge's attention, and she saw Heinrich, still wielding both pistols. He had a long cut across his neck, but it didn't look life threatening. He looked at the smashed Transport, the front half of which was on fire, and frowned deeply.

"I think they look Grant alive. The others..." He shook his head. "We're all that's left. What're your orders, Boss?"

"We... we have to... to find somewhere to hide..." Rouge licked her lips. Her mouth felt dry – so dry. "Radio for help..."

"My topographical database shows a small network of caves northeast of here." Fiona looked down at her left arm. There was a hole just below her wrist, a little more than a centimeter in diameter. "Hmm. I seem to be damaged."

"Omega,' Rouge said to the robot, ignoring Fiona's seemingly inconsequential injury. "How fast can you move?"

The robot didn't have facial expressions, but his voice was almost... amused.

"Fast."

"Good. Grab Fiona and Private..." Rouge looked at the wounded dingo's nametag. "Cramer, and get ready to move out."

Omega quickly scooped up the injured private, while Fiona climbed up his arm to sit on his shoulder. She kept her head down, however, as occasional fire from across the clearing still presented a tangible danger. From behind, they could hear shouts and snarls from the native Panther Tribe.

"Are you in any condition to run, Boss?" von Elbe asked, eyeing her for any injuries.

"I'm fine, Heinrich." Rouge thought of her men, and women, who were now dead or dying. 'But I'll be better when I see that Tails Doll's head on a spit! Nobody kills my people and gets away with it!'

'Miles... They used your name to lure us here.' She then looked at Fiona, who still seemed disturbed by the turn of events. 'I'll make them pay for that, too. I swear it!'

-----

Geoffrey St. John watched the smoldering hulk on the high definition screen of a plasma monitor. Hershey stood behind him, and tried to read the expression on his face. He was looking intently at the display, as if through willpower alone he could deduce all that had transpired below. He had his hands clasped behind his back, and looked ready to give some sort of order, even though he had said nothing in over five minutes.

The entire flotilla continued its holding pattern over the area.

Waiting.

"Geoff." Hershey prompted. "Geoffrey?"

"I know." His voice was low, almost a whisper. "I can't go back. Not without something for the King. Not without my Sword. But..."

'That damn knighthood thing," Hershey thought bitterly. 'People respect you, Geoff. Those that don't won't suddenly change their minds because you're Sir. St. John. I always knew you wanted to have a high title, but I never knew how badly it gnawed at you. Let it go, Geoff. Take us home.'

Slowly, the head of the Royal Secret Service raised his right hand to the screen.

"Hershey..." He said, a little louder. "Get your things. We're going down there."

"But Geoff..." She tried to argue, but he cut her off.

"NO!" He turned on her, suddenly very angry. "She is down there, and my orders are to BRING HER IN! I have my orders, and YOU HAVE YOURS! Now follow through with them!!"

"Yes, sir!" Hershey snap saluted, even though the Secret Service was ostensibly a civilian organization and not a part of the Mobian Armed Forces. "How many of the Transports will you be landing?"

"All of them!" St. John smiled savagely, and pointed at a nearby map. "Here. Here. And Here. We'll sweep this entire Source Forsaken wilderness if we have to. Rouge will NOT escape me!"

"What if she's dead?" Hershey asked.

St. John shrugged. "I'll forge a confession, and tell everyone she committed suicide. The King won't care as long as I give him his fair share of MilesTech."

"And..." she pressed. "What if the natives have her and won't trade?"

"If they won't hand her over, well..." He smirked, smugly. "That's what we brought His Majesty's finest across the world for. Now: Go! I'll expect you to play diplomat with these savages, should it come to that."

Hershey kept her face impassive and saluted again.

"Yes, sir."

-----


	6. The Waiting Jaws of a Nightmare III

The warrior was a bloody mess.

"Abammu Abrahammu Lithammu Mortaeammu..." Kabbal rattled the bones in his palm. As they rubbed together, he interpreted the tiny sounds they made, as well as the motions in his hand. Forecasting through Invocation and Bones was as old an art as the land itself, and well respected by high and low born alike. "Abammu Abrahammu Lithammu Mortaeammu..."

The chanted Words focused the Power.

But what they actually meant, no one knew.

Opening his palm, Kabbal watched as the bones of his Old Master fell into a bronze dish. He quietly read the pattern, stirred the dish with his index finger, and read that one too. Sighing, he shook his head.

"I am sorry. He is not long for this world," Kabbal said, somberly, and scooped up the bones, placing them in the ritual pouch that hung from his neck. "There was no mistaking the signs."

The female next to him wailed at the news, and cried to the Spirits for a miracle.

Nearby, on a straw mat sticky with blood, a Panther Warrior no more than fourteen years of age lay in an almost motionless state. He still clung to his spear. A wound like nothing Kabbal had ever seen lay, like a curse, in the young mobian's lower torso. The flesh was ragged and torn, but dressed with the village's finest herbs and salves. The Medicine Man had done as good as job as Kabbal could have hoped, but even without the use of the bones, he doubted the young Panther would see another moon.

It had not been a wound like that caused by even one of the hairless foreigner's firearms. Those could be removed by a skilled Medicine Man, and could heal over. Whatever sort of magics had hit this young warrior had been merciless. On a bloody tray nearby were shards of metal, taken from the wound. There was no sign of the bullet itself, which must have been huge to have done the damage it did. Worse, this young warrior was not the only one to suffer such a blow.

A fair number of the Panther Tribe's warriors suffered similarly.

Most would surely not survive, and of those that did, they would lose an arm or a leg. Still, Commander Badru had claimed a great victory, and made much boasting as he sent a runner to the Temple of Ysbaddaden in the village's Inner Court. The Commander had yet to speak with the God, however, and Kabbal was beginning to suspect that something was awry. Four of Ysbaddaden's magically animated armored guards blocked all entrance to the Temple Reliquary.

Kabbal's thoughts were interrupted by someone calling his name.

Turning slightly, he saw a Panther Warrior in a headdress of sub commander (an intermediate rank) open the beaded curtain that covered the entrance to the hut. He looked from the body, to the female, to Kabbal. "Shaman! Commander Badru requests your presence immediately."

"Very well," Kabbal said, and stood up. He gave the dying Panther one last look, and then took his leave. The female, the boy's mother, was crying over her son's body. She was but one of many, the Shaman knew.

The sub-commander lead him silently to the part of town where Badru had set up his camp. There, warriors were drilling and practicing, talking and eating. Entering the largest hut, Kabbal saw the Commander himself, bedecked in his most ornate headdress, and carrying his ceremonial shield. Flanking him were four other sub commanders, all sitting cross-legged. The Commander, a rather pale haired Panther of mixed black and gray, motioned for Kabbal to sit and drink.

The Shaman did so.

Holding a saucer to his mouth, he drank the juice that had been poured by one of the Commander's servants. The lower ranked creatures, most of them slaves captured in border skirmishes with the hated Phyllostomid Tribe, buzzed like flies as they did what was commanded of them. The juice itself was very sweet, taken from distant mountain fruits not in Panther territory. After the drink, Kabbal lowered his head to the floor.

"How may I serve you, Commander?"

"I wish you to serve an intermediary," the Commander said, simply. He had no need for outstand niceties, and no inclination towards them. He clapped his hands. "Bring them in!"

Three mobians entered the room. The first, to Kabbal's surprise, was one of the Panther God's concubines: Ere-La. He instantly realized why he was present, and what the Commander meant by 'intermediary.' It was forbidden for most Panthers, even ones of Badru's rank, to speak to one of the God's women. A Shaman, however, as a religious man who already communed with Spirits, was allowed.

The echidna woman wore the dress of a high ranked Panther female, though it hung from her small frame. Her body was a vivid red, and her eyes a shade of violet. These were colors no female of the Panther Tribe had. She had been a great trophy for the male who had taken her from her city far to the east, and he must have enjoyed her as well... at least until the Great Lord of Eyes returned, and demanded her for his Harem. Kabbal would not have liked to give up any of his trophy females, much less such an exotic one, but who was any mere mortal to argue with a God?

Her violet eyes, however, looked haunted and shrunken.

'No doubt she has seen terrible things,' Kabbal thought, again wondering why the God of Panthers had such penchant for brutality. Vengeful, yes – all the scholars agreed on that one – but Ysbaddaden was also a loyal and aloof god. Not for the first time, Kabbal questioned, briefly, whether they had been cursed with some pretender god. What if the god who resided in the Temple was not Ysbaddaden, Lord of Eyes, but Mulciber, the Trickster God?

No: such a thing was impossible, and blasphemy besides.

Following Ere-La was a mobian Kabbal had never seen before. She was female. Though her clothes were strange and foreign and would normally have covered her feminine parts completely, they were ripped over her upper torso, exposing some sort of thinner undershirt, which concealed far less. Kabbal remembered that the hairless foreigners from the north had also worn white shirts under their protective clothes: 'jackets' they had called the outer garments. Ones that could stop even a bullet from penetrating.

Gender and clothing aside, Kabbal had never seen a mobian of her breed before. She was as large, physically, as a full-grown Panther, and by the heavy coils tied around her hands and boots she must have put up an impressive struggle. The muscle on her arms and legs confirmed that conclusion. Her fur was brownish, as were her eyes. Her muzzle was longer than that of a Panther or echidna, her black nose was slightly wider as well. Lastly, her tail was unlike any other mobian Kabbal knew – it was bushy, with long fur.

The third mobian was a rather muscular warrior charged with keeping the female from escaping. He herded her forward none-too-gently before forcing her (with some struggling) to her knees. Ere-La sat without any need for prompting, also on her knees.

"This strange creature," The Commander said and motioned to the new female. "Does not speak our language, nor the language of our allies, but I believe the god's favored consort may be able to ask her several questions on my behalf. As a male who has communed with the Spirits, you will ask the female Ere-La what I ask of you."

"Of course. I am happy to be of assistance." Kabbal felt a bit uneasy, but didn't say so.

Commander Badru smiled in anticipation. "What I wish to know first is her name."

"What is this female's name?" Kabbal asked Ere-La. The echidna female sighed, and faced the other female. She spoke in a strange language Kabbal had never heard before. The other female seemed to understand it well enough, as well as the situation, because she responded promptly. Ere-La then spoke again, displeased by the answer she got, but the other female said the same thing.

Finally, the echidna captive spoke in a normal and proper language: that of the Panther Tribe. "Her name is Suzanne Grant."

"Zuzan Gran-Ta?" Kabbal asked, ruining the pronunciation at first.

"Suzanne Grant," Ere-La said again.

"Zuzan Grant." Kabbal said, and seemed satisfied that he got it close enough. "Is that all she said?"

Ere-La shrugged. "No. She said more, but you..." She seemed to reconsider telling any of the males present that they wouldn't understand what had been said. "She said, in full: Grant, Suzanne. 'Private Second Class' – meaning her rank - sixty second 'Infantry Regiment' – it means her war party – on loan – it means in service to – the MilesTeach 'Security Office' – it means the group she is currently fighting for. Then, she stated her 'Identification Number.'"

Commander Badru cleared his throat to get their attention. "I now wish to know if she is what could be called a... ah... a 'vixen.' A female vox. No: Fox. A female fox."

"Is this female, Zuzan, a female fox? Is she what is called a vixen?"

To her credit, Ere-La didn't laugh. She just shook her head. "What you have here is a dingo. She is not a fox, but she is female."

"Dingho?" Kabbal looked at the other female.

"Din Go," Ere-La corrected. "Dingo."

At this, Commander Badru frowned deeply. Several of his sub-commanders murmured amongst themselves. A few looked very nervous for some reason. One kept shaking his head.

"When we captured her, she was using a firearm. It was not like one of ours, but it was indisputably a firearm. We do not believe she was a mate or slave to any of the males we killed." Commander Badru grunted at this. "Why was she here? Why was she carrying a weapon?"

Kabbal asked the question.

Ere-La again had no need to ask anything of the female named Zuzan. She said, "The Dingo are a warlike people. They are more warlike than even the Panther Tribe."

"What!" Badru snarled. "You speak lies!"

Ere-La pretended not to hear him. After all, he was no allowed to speak to her, so he may as well have not spoken. Instead, she continued, "They do not always fight, as the Panther Tribe do, this is true. But their entire society is built around the potential, and in their eyes eventual, conflict they will have with others. When the dingo fight, they devote all their energies to the task, and to the total subjugation of their enemies. They call this doctrine 'Total War' because it can only end when one group has been completely defeated by another. To this end, all members of their society are a part of their 'military' – their warrior caste."

"Again: lies!" Badru hissed, angrily. "How can they all be warriors?"

"They all know how to fight," Ere-La answered. "They can all be called to fight as warriors as their leaders see fit. Not all do, but all can. Even their females."

Badru grumbled, but didn't say anything more.

The dingo female took that opportunity to speak up. Ere-La translated, "She demands to be let go. She claims you have defiled the bodies of her dead comrades by skinning them, and says that there will be a horrible vengeance paid for it. She says that the dingo will soon rule all of this land – and by this land, she means lands to the north, west, east and south, from one ocean to another – what is in our language called a 'continent.' She also says that if you try and force yourself on her, she will twist off your manhood and choke you with it."

Kabbal saw Ere-La smile as she said that last part.

From where she kneeled, the dingo female grinned, showing large sharp teeth. She was a fiery female, that Kabbal could see easily. Even if he were a decade younger, he'd be hesitant to try and tame such a creature. It would be an effort taking many, many months, and even then Kabbal feared for the long-term safety of whatever male made the attempt. Still, many hot-blooded males liked a challenge. Who had managed to capture this female, anyway, and why was he not present?

Commander Badru sneered at the female's translated comments. "We will see how she fares under our Great Lord's tender ministrations. Ysbaddaden has ordered all females captured in the raid brought to him. When he spoke to me, he seemed quite eager. This female may not be a 'vixen' but perhaps it will not matter. No: I don't think it will."

He waved dismissively, and the guard dragged the dingo female away.

Ere-La slowly got up, and walked out on her own.

Kabbal watched them go with curiosity. 'What is the Lord of Eyes planning? First the search through the jungles for a body of some sort, and now: this? That first search was for a male body, too. Now he is looking for a female?'

The Shaman sighed sadly.

The problem in dealing with gods was that they were always so damn inscrutable.

* * *

The cave offered little shelter.

Rouge hated it.

'Ironic, considering my breed,' the she bat mused, and ducked her head to avoid bumping into a low hanging stalactite. Omega wouldn't have even fit in the cave, so he was off causing a distraction several miles away. It was dark outside, and it had been even darker in the cave, devoid as it was of moonlight. Heinrich, however, had carried a few flares, and broke one open to provide some illumination. He had left several minutes ago to investigate a noise, but Rouge suspected that he hated their little hiding place as much as she did, and just wanted some fresh air.

Then again, Heinrich was the type of dingo who would sleep on a bed of tacks if his superior officer ordered it. Rouge had never had a bodyguard (she had never really needed one before), but she felt a sudden and sharp pang of gratefulness to General von Stryker, who had offered her the services of one of his finest commandos. Of course, Rouge suspected that the General was also using Heinrich to spy on her, but she didn't have a problem with that. She had no plans to break her arrangements with the dingo, and if she did, the first thing she'd do was to purge her security force of them.

Heinrich's departure left her alone with only two other souls.

And Rouge meant 'souls' in the loosest sense of the word.

Fiona was nearby, her eyes closed. She stood up and didn't move – she didn't even inhale, unless she wanted to. Nearby, lying on the floor, was Private Cramer. Rouge had not known it at first, but she had remembered his name on the way to their cavernous hideout. He had been the young dingo who had ogled Fiona on the plane. Rouge would've recognized him by his face, except...

Except a plasma blast had removed half his face.

Now he was semi-conscious on the floor, his face and left leg heavily bandaged. His breathing was regular, except for the occasional shudder. Watching him, Rouge felt terrible – she had given the order to come to this place. She was responsible for the deaths of seven of her people. How did Stryker and the others deal with it? Did they cry when no one was looking, or was she the only one?

How could they live with themselves?

Walking over to the dying mobian, Rouge touched his arm, but didn't feel a response. He was still breathing, though. Looking at him more closely, Rouge tried to picture the look on his face from before. He had reminded her, at least a little, of Miles. Even if he had seemed more attracted to a heartless, soulless doll than a flesh and blood female.

"Fiona," Rouge spoke to the object of her ire. She'd hardly said a word to the sentient AI in hours, but silence wasn't really helping things. And besides, even if Fiona could survive without speaking a word, it didn't mean Rouge could. No: she wanted to talk, even if it was with a fake Fiona.

The AI's eyes opened, and eyes moved in Rouge's direction.

"What is it?" She then smiled. "Dear Rouge?"

Rouge frowned a little at the annoying nickname.

"Come here," Rouge motioned with her hand, and Fiona approached. "We have to talk."

Fiona nodded. "I imagined you would."

Rouge looked down at the wounded soldier. "Do you have emotions, Fiona?"

"I do... in a manner of speaking," Fiona answered, somewhat obliquely. She looked down at the dingo on the floor. "But he is dying. Fussing over him won't change that."

"He's not a machine, Fiona," Rouge's voice was surprisingly reserved. "He doesn't want to die."

Fiona raised her eyebrow again, a sure sign that she found something amusing or foolish. "You don't know that. He will not survive. He would suffer less if you broke his neck."

Rouge felt a flash of anger come and go. She looked up, briefly, at the Fiona Doll. "I can see why Miles didn't stay with you, Fiona. He cared for those who followed him. He cared. I don't think you can."

Fiona's eyes narrowed a little. It was as vexed as Rouge had yet seen her. Lowing to her knees, she inched closer to the wounded dingo, and tentatively reached out. For a second, Rouge wondered if she was going to follow through with what she thought was right, and kill the wounded soldier. But Fiona's hand rested softly on his temple, and slowly ran through his hair.

"Empathy," Fiona said the word, after a few quiet seconds. "Is a concept I struggle with. It was considered dangerous to my original mission, you see."

Rouge could understand that. 'Your original mission was to seduce and betray. I can see how empathy, more than anything else, could lead you to compromise your programming.'

She probably should have said the words, and not just spoken them. But by then something unexpected happened. The soldier opened his eyes. For a second, they were wild and wide with adrenaline, but then they closely closed and he let out a low groan. Raising his head slightly, Fiona placed it on her lap, and kept stroking his hair – somewhat by rote.

'Or perhaps by imitation,' Rouge thought.

"I had hoped this wouldn't happen," The Doll added, cutting off anything else Rouge was about to say.

"Hoped this wouldn't happen?" Rouge snapped, but kept her voice low. "So you knew...!"

"There was always the chance that my contact would betray me." Fiona admitted. "But something else happened. Something different than simple treachery. The creature that was present at the meeting place was not the Tails Doll I spoke with. I don't think it was a Tails Doll at all."

"Enough have died already for your secrets, damn you!" Rouge's voice was undoubtedly angry, even if her tone wasn't very loud. "What the hell were you planning? Tell me the truth! The whole bloody truth!"

"The truth?" Fiona smiled. "Very well. It can't hurt at this point. As I told you, some time ago I came in contact with a Tails Doll. He was escaping from the Kingdom of Acorn, and believed himself to be the last member of the Doll Network and the Eggman Empire. While in the area, he detected a spike in Chaos Energy, and when he compared it to the files it had on hand, it matched up. With Darling Miles."

"So there was never a body?" Rouge asked.

"No. No body. At least not one that the Doll found. Just a Chaos Signature. A strong one. That, in and of itself is unusual, because it indicated that Miles had been in the area recently, and had been manifesting his powers to a large degree. It was possible, as the Doll deduced, that the Signature was a remnant of the massive blast of energy released near Knothole, which also corresponded to that of Darling Miles. That does seem the reasonable and logical explanation, but it is not the only one."

"So you did think he was here, somewhere?"

"I did." Fiona nodded and sighed. "In my conversations with him, the Tails Doll expressed a desire to live outstripping his obligations to a defeated regime. Essentially, he wanted to defect. He hoped that I would be able to help him find Sanctuary, and that he could surrender to one of Mobius' governments in exchange for his continued existence."

"I was unsure what to believe, at first. His communications became more and more desperate. He had never been removed from the Network for more than a few minutes, and his programming was not suited for lone operations. Tails Dolls typically operate in separate groups of three, seven or nine. Never one. I eventually came to believe what he was saying, and found myself in a similar position. I, too, want to live. I do not want to be destroyed, as the Kingdom of Acorn would no doubt do when they find me."

"However, I did not entirely trust him. So: I arranged for the base to be found by you, by sending an anonymous fax at one of Miles' bases that you controlled. Through it, your people were able to locate Gold Seven, which was Miles' most guarded base of operations. I knew you would bring soldiers to defend yourself and your operation when you came to Gold Seven. I knew these soldiers could be used in case the Tails Doll turned against me, or planned some other deceit."

"So this whole thing... was just so you could hide behind us if things turned wrong?" Rouge sounded both angry and impressed. More the former than the latter, however.

"Yes. Exactly," Fiona said, without emotion. "It worked, too. If not for these precautions, I would have been captured by whatever was masquerading as that Tails Doll."

"How do you know it wasn't the Doll?" Rouge asked. "You said it was acting strangely, disconnected from its little friends."

"It was definitely not a Tails Doll. When I asked it where the body was – and it never told me there was a body – it did not point out my error. Instead, it confirmed it. Furthermore, when it took damage, it briefly bled. Tails Dolls do not bleed red blood. Additionally, though it had no apparent injury, it did not float. It held itself upright using its tendrils."

Fiona then paused. "It was able to control its Combots, however. I have a theory about that, but it is only speculation. Miles experimented with the concept of using cybernetics to usurp control of lower level Eggman robots, including Combots, but it was not effective. These are files you will be able to access, via myself, and the Computer Core stored in another of your planes. There are incomplete records with the Freedom Fighter named Rotor, as well, as he cooperated in the early stages of the project."

"There was another reason Miles abandoned the project, wasn't there?" Rouge made a quick guess. "The information could travel both ways, couldn't it?"

"Very perceptive," Fiona seemed genuinely impressed. "Yes. The chip design came from robians that had been destroyed in the field and from Eggman robots that used Organic Cores. There was no way to prevent orders flowing back into a user's mind from the Computer Network that controlled the robots. Meaning that only a creature with incredible willpower would be able to successfully usurp command of enemy forces."

Rouge thought about that. There was a lot of money to be made in the use of technology like that. But the potential costs... And the moral issues... Rouge was hardly a paragon of virtue (something Miles had remarked on occasionally, with amusement), but even she saw the inherent problems presented by such an advance. In the wrong hands, it was dangerous indeed.

"Something similar to that may account for how this creature was able to control the nearby Combots." Fiona returned to the original topic. "What was also unexpected, was the involvement of the Panther Tribe. They were obviously cooperating with the entity pretending to be the Tails Doll I communicated with."

"Wait," Rouge interrupted again. "How do you know there was ever really a Tails Doll?"

"A fair question," Fiona admitted. "Tails Dolls communicate on a level far above and beyond that of an organic brain. They can have millions of lines of conversations in mere seconds. No mobian brain could keep pace. He and I communicated on that level. No organic could have replicated that feat."

Rouge frowned. "I see..."

"From what I have gathered from this situation, the entity controlling the Combots is also directing the efforts of the Panther Tribe. I have recorded, translated, and gone over what words in their language that I heard, but it does not reveal any real clue as to how they are being manipulated." Fiona sounded exasperated. "Their target, however, is likely me. They have no reason to pursue us, but they do, even though we are plainly beaten. They sent parties of warriors out to find us: why? Either to find me, or you, and with all due respect, I am the likely target if you assume that the Panther Tribe and the fake Tails Doll are working together, and not independently."

Rouge nodded. "That makes sense. But why? Why do they want you so badly?"

Fiona tapped the side of her head. "I have sensitive information. I assume they are after that. But what, exactly, they want... I do not know."

Rouge looked down at the dingo who lay between them. "This shouldn't have happened."

"Dear Rouge," Fiona spoke again. "Listen to me. Even as we speak, Geoffrey St. John is likely setting up a base of operations in the area. When he does, it will provoke an immediate response from the Panther Tribe and the entity controlling them. St. John will either destroy me, or he will capture me for his King. Neither of these options are what this entity wants. When he attacks St. John, it will provide us an opportunity."

"You don't seriously want to..." Rouge couldn't even say it.

"I want to find the Tails Doll that I communicated with. He was telling the truth: there was a Chaos Signature in the area, and it was Miles.' He is alive, somewhere, and we have to find him. To a very small margin of error, I believe both the Tails Doll and perhaps Miles himself to be held in captivity at the Panther Tribe's nearest village. Overlander documents indicate that the Tribe maintains a warrior caste, and that their entire compliment of warriors will sortie to fight a large enemy like St. John. If we can evade those patrols that are looking for us here, we can get in and out relatively easily."

"That's..." Rouge was about to say it was 'totally insane' when approaching footsteps compelled her to clam up. She relaxed, however, when Heinrich von Elbe rounded the corner instead of a Panther warrior. He sat down nearby, and placed several ammunitions clips on the floor of the cave.

"Boss. A couple of Panthers were roaming around near the entrance to the cave," He patted the clips on the ground. "I took them out very quietly. Saved as much ammunition as I could."

"Can we use their guns?" Rouge asked. She didn't see any.

"You wouldn't want to. They're overlander guns, and they kick like an angry woman. But your big robot friend will like them, though. They look like they'll feed right into his chaingun, though I'll have to load them one by one." He then reached behind him, and pulled out four spears and two small brown balls. "These are weighted for throwing. They're not exactly grenades, but they're better than nothing, all things considered. These little balls here – are powder grenades. You throw them at somebody's face, and the powder blinds them. Looks like the Panther use some sort of pepper in the powder, too. Very nasty."

Leaving those niceties on the floor, the former commando took out his combat knife, a rather wicked looking thing, and started cleaning it with a rag. A rag with more than a few rusted blood stains. He seemed to be totally in his element behind enemy lines, and half out of ammo. He did pause, momentarily, in his duty to look at the wounded mobian in front of his Boss.

"How is he?" Heinrich asked, cautiously.

"He's still hanging on," Rouge answered with an even face. The other dingo shook his head, and went back to his own business.

"I think..." Fiona began to suggest.

"I know!" Rouge cut her short. "I know."

"They won't be expecting an attack so soon." Fiona pressed the matter. "The other options are to hand ourselves over to St. John, or to try and make a run for Mercia. We could do that, but we'd lose any chance of finding Darling Miles. We could be abandoning him."

Rouge looked up at the dark ceiling, and then leaned back, using her wings to cushion herself. She felt dirty and tired and miserable. What she really wanted, more than anything, was a hot shower and a soak in a hot tub. That, however, was out of her reach. Other things, though, were not.

"I'll... think about it." She said, finally. Closing her eyes, she fell into an unusually restful sleep. Considering the circumstances, she was grateful her body and mind worked together to produce a good night's rest, for once. There were no dreams, but when she woke up, she did feel a lot better.

Or at least she did, until she saw Fiona holding Private Cramer's body. He had died sometime that night. The look on what was left of his face was peaceful... slack. Rouge still remembered his face from before, on the plane, and she didn't bother hiding her tears. Sergeant von Elbe had already taken the youth's dogtags and left to check out the area outside the cave. And Fiona...

She just watched, her face impassive.

It was then that Rouge made her decision.

* * *

Ere-La watched as the young panther female fell at her feet.

"You are being most uncooperative," She informed her newest guest. The dingo female just snarled. Ms. Grant had been stripped of her clothes by the warriors of the Panther Tribe an hour or so before they handed her over to the robots that, for some reason, served the monster called Ysbaddaden. Now, she was inside the Reliquary itself, and making a pain of herself. She had not been violated (such was the fear their God placed in his warriors), and still harbored foolish notions of escape and vengeance.

"Damn straight I'm being uncooperative!" Suzanne yelled, knowing that Ere-La was the only one in the village who could understand her words anyway. "'It is the responsibility of every prisoner of war to attempt to affect an escape or rescue.' I doubt I'm gonna be rescued, so you better believe I'm gonna try and escape!"

Ere-La shook her head sadly. "That is impossible. There is no escape."

"Bullshit!" Grant slammed a fist against one of the stone walls. Two other Panther girls, who had been trying to get her to wear the 'proper' clothes befitting a concubine of their deranged 'god,' cowered and backed away. The few that had tried to physically subdue their latest associate had quickly learned what constituted dingo basic hand to hand training.

Like they didn't get beaten up enough, already.

"You're a bloody echidna! You must know how to ... to... fix up fancy electronics!" The dingo woman reasoned, somewhat poorly. "We can work together. Get out of here! I've heard that it's possible to build a radio out of all sorts of junk."

"Just because I am an echidna, does not mean I am an electronic engineer," Ere-La snorted derisively. "I was studying law in West Albion University when I was captured in my sleep. I wanted to become a scribe."

"Great!" Suzanne rolled her eyes, and then re-thought what she had heard. "Wait. Albion? You're from Albion? You must have been one of those taken in that raid back in March!"

"Yes." Ere-La was surprised that the dingo woman knew about that. She was acutely aware that the secrecy that had for so long protected Albion had recently been lost, but she had still never thought it could be raided by savage felines from nearby Cat Country. Even after it became public knowledge that the outside world knew about Albion, the city was still well hidden. It had never happened before, so why would it happen now, or to her of all mobians?

But it had.

The Lost Echidna City of Albion had survived for thousands of years in splendid isolation from outsiders. Protected by its technology, it was able to sit back, immune, as all manner of catastrophe and calamity ravaged the world. Even as increasingly problematic glitches and maintenance problems led to troubles, things were idyllic. Then, just over three years ago, a wandering tribe of echidna who had forsaken life on the Floating Island created in 2814 finally made their way to Albion, and were accepted by the Hidden City (who had been watching their progress and planning for their arrival for centuries).

That had all gone according to plan. What had not, was when the city's location was discovered by assorted other parties: Freedom Fighters from Mobius Major, The Guardian of Angel Island, and even several local Mercians. Soon enough, everyone knew! And then came the by now infamous March Raid, in which she had been a gloomy participant. Never having needed defenses in the past, the Felines found little opposition in their attack, except by a few hardened echidna who had traveled to the city instead of being born there.

"I... I just never thought anyone could attack our city," Ere-La summed it all up in one sad, pitiful sentence. "No one did."

"These felines are fools," Suzanne said, off hand. "They should have amassed an army and taken the entire city. A raid only served to alert your people to the problem. They are not such an easy target anymore."

Ere-La wasn't sure if the dingo female had meant it that way, but she found her statement to be joyful news. She had always wondered, and worried, how many others would be taken. Sometimes, she wondered if glorious Albion was still even there, far beyond the horizon.

"Albion prevails," She said, hopefully. "Albion prevails."

"Maybe. But it doesn't help me, or you. We can only help ourselves." Private Grant kept searching the room for some sort of weapon, or weakness in the walls. Finally convinced that there was nothing to find, she walked out towards another room in the Temple Interior. Ere-La followed, curious.

At the end of a short hall, they literally ran into a wall of steel.

Two Combots stood, motionless, guarding the last rear room in the Temple.

Tough as Ms. Grant was, she wasn't about to jump two armed Combots in the close confines presented. She instead turned to Ere-La, and asked, "What's back there? Weapons? Drugs for this joker you called their 'god?' Maybe a stash of Ginger or Ginseng?"

Ere-La knew those two drugs only by rumor. She shook her head. "I do not think so. No one is allowed into that room. I have never even seen Lord Ysbaddaden go back there."

"Listen to yourself! 'Lord Ysbaddaden!' He's just some Panther with delusions of grandeur! I bet if you got all the girls together, we could jump him, and..." Private Grant cut her sentence short at the look in Ere-La's eyes. "What? What is it?"

"He... he..." the echidna girl's eyes watered. "You don't know... can't imagine..."

Suzanne Grant just frowned.

Then, she heard a distant thump. And another. And another. It was then that she realized what they were: footsteps. Curiosity overpowering fear, she went back down the way she came, heading for the main chamber. Ere-La followed hesitantly behind. As they came closer, they heard voices. Some, spoken in more hushed tones, were quite normal, but then Suzanne Grant heard a voice that sent chills down her spine.

"YES. I WILL RECEIVE YOU NOW, COMMANDER. COME FORWARD."

"Great and Mighty Lord of Eyes!" Both females heard Commander Badru's voice. "I am gladdened and honored to once more be given entrance into your Temple Reliquary. I serve you unto death, my Lord! I... I was wondering, Lord Ysbaddaden, if you bid me wait because you were angered or displeased in some way?"

"IT DID NOT COMMANDER. I WAS INDISPOSED, COMMUNING WITH MY FELLOW GODS. WE HAVE GREAT PLANS FOR THIS LAND, AND OUR CHOSEN PEOPLE. NOW, COMMANDER, BRING FORTH WHAT I BID YOU BRING TO ME."

"Yes, oh Lord!" The Commander yelled more loudly at one of his sub commanders. "Find the brown one, and bring her here! NOW!"

He needn't have bothered. Grant and Ere-La were practically in the main room's antechamber. When the sub commander pushed aside the bead curtain, Suzanne grabbed his arm, pulled him forward, and flipped him onto his back. Kicking him viciously in the face, she quickly grabbed the Panther's weapon – an overlander make submachine gun – and burst into the main room. No doubt, she planned to take the Panther leader and self proscribed 'god' as hostage.

She sight of Ysbaddaden, however, gave her immediate pause.

Ere-La watched, fascinated, at what was about to happen.

The massive hulk that was the Panther God turned slightly in its throne. At the sight of Private Grant, and her loaded weapon, two of the monster's five eyes narrowed dangerously. All glowed a horrible blood red. A low guttural noise escaped from a mouth lined with shark's teeth.

"WHO IS THIS DINGO? WHERE IS THE VIXEN I COMMANDED YOU TO CAPTURE?" Ysbaddaden's words sent Commander Badru to the floor, kowtowing as if his life depended on it (probably because it did).

"We are still combing the jungles, Great Lord! But we captured for you, at the cost of many lives, this strange and exotic beauty! A fine addition to your Harem! Soon, we shall also have the creature of which you seek! I swear it!"

"Freeze! No body move!" Suzanne finally found her voice, but winced when she remembered that no one would understand here. She saw Ere-La out of the corner of her eye, and had an idea. "Tell them to back off, right now! Or I pump their so-called god full of RED HOT LEAD! Tell them I'm not shitting around! I'll do it! I'll do it!"

Ere-La was about to do just that, when Ysbaddaden laughed. It was a dark horrible sound. Slowly, he stood up from his throne, his long tail growing a snake's head that snapped ands hissed. He faced the angry dingo soldier.

"DO YOU REALLY THINK YOU CAN KILL ME WITH THAT?" Ysbaddaden spoke in Mobian standard, and not the language of the Panther Tribe. "DO YOU THINK THAT THESE PRIMITIVES WOULD WORSHIP ME, IF I WAS SO EASILY STRUCK DOWN? GO AHEAD. SHOOT."

As he took another thunderous step towards the cornered dingo female, Suzanne set her feet, and squeezed the trigger. Bullet after bullet left the gun, flashing and screaming through the air. In front of her, Ysbaddaden winced with every blow, bits and chunks of flesh flying from his face and chest. In seconds, the thirty round clip was completely spent, and the God of Panthers was within reach.

Fast as lightning, he grabbed Grant by her throat, and lifted her off her feet.

Flexing his neck, Ysbaddaden hissed as the wounds on his face and torso closed and healed. Ere-La gasped, and fell back against one of the Temple's hard walls. In mere seconds, the Lord of Eyes was fully restored. Suzanne Grant's eyes were wide as well, in fear and shock. The submachine gun fell from her hands, and she claws at Ysbaddaden's wrist, gasping for air.

"I WON'T KILL YOU, LITTLE DINGO. NOT JUST YET. I GET VERY LITTLE PLEASURE FROM THE DEAD." Opening his massive hand, he let go of the female's neck. She fell to the ground in a heap, coughing and holding her throat.

"Incredible! Lord Ysbaddaden is incredible! Invincible! All praise and hail the Lord of Eyes!" Commander Badru was still bowing his head profusely. When his headdress slipped, he quickly fixed it, and kept bowing. The other sub commanders were acting similarly.

"COMMANDER BADRU!" Ysbaddaden returned to the Panther tongue. "YOU HAVE FAILED TO BRING THE VIXEN NAMED FIONA. THIS DISPLEASES YOUR GOD. HOWEVER... YOU WILL HAVE AN OPPORTUNITY TO REDEEM YOURSELF."

"Anything, oh Lord of Eyes!" the Panther Commander cried. "Unto death, I serve my immortal master and god!"

"AS YOU ALREADY KNOW, FOREIGNERS DEFILE OUR LANDS. MY LANDS. THEY SEARCH THE JUNGLE THICK, AND IF THEY FIND WHAT I SEEK, THEY WILL STEAL IT. THE QUICKEST ESCAPE FROM THE JUNGLE FOR THE VIXEN FOX IS THE INVADERS FROM THE FAR EAST, AND THEIR FLYING SHIPS."

Ysbaddaden smiled, all the vicious teeth at his disposal on vivid display.

"YOU WILL TAKE EVERY WARRIOR NOT ALREADY SEARCHING FOR THE VIXEN, YOU WILL TAKE EVERY HEAVY WEAPON AT YOUR DISPOSAL, AND YOU WILL BE ESCORTED BY MY PERSONAL GUARD. YOU WILL KILL THESE HERETICS WHO OFFEND YOUR GOD! YOU WILL DESTROY THEIR SHIPS! AND IF YOU FAIL, COMMANDER, YOU AND ALL YOUR KIN WILL FACE MY WRATH. IS THIS UNDERSTOOD? I DO NOT FORGIVE FAILURE TWICE."

"We will do as you command, All-Knowing and Great Lord! It will be done as you say!" Badru looked up, a little shyly. "However, it will not be easy. My scouts report many foreigners, and all are armed. They are setting up defenses and base camps."

"GUILE AND CUNNING, COMMANDER, WILL AID BRUTE FORCE IN THIS ENDEAVOR." Ysbaddaden turned around, and reached behind his throne. Sliding back a heavy stone panel he took out a single piece of paper, which had been amid several other shadowed items. Taking out a pen, he began to write. When he was done, a minute later, he handed it to his kowtowing general.

"THE UNBELEIVERS WILL ATTEMPT TO PARLAY WITH YOU. GIVE THEM THIS FROM YOUR ALMIGHTY GOD. IT WILL SCATTER AND WEAKEN THEM. COME NEXT SUNSET, YOU WILL STRIKE THEM DOWN. DO YOU UNDERSTAND WHAT TO DO, COMMANDER BADRU?"

"I DO, my Lord! I will see it done!" Badru backed out of the chamber with his sub commanders, bowing his head repeatedly. Ysbaddaden's upper lip curled at the sight, before he turned to Ere-La and the still shell shocked Suzanne Grant. The look in his eyes promised pain and death, in that order.

With a whimper, Ere-La's feet fell out from under her.

Would it be her body, the next morning, which the servants cleared away?

As he reached for her, she closed her eyes and prayed.

* * *

Geoffrey St. John paced the perimeter that had been set up two days before. The MAF officers and conscripts didn't salute him, as Hershey did, but they did show respect by following his orders. They didn't have the fuel to loiter craft over the area and search that way, so what had to be done would be done on foot. The few all terrain vehicles that he had brought were all but useless in the thick jungle, but his people were well equipped, and well supplied. 

In that, at least, they had Rouge beat.

If she were still alive, Rouge surely would be short on supplies. She would slow down, and become weak. His people, on the other hand, still had plenty of supplies in their Transports. They would be able to search the jungle mess for well over a week, before fresh water supplies got low. And if Rouge was headed for civilization, she was in for a rude surprise.

Soon after landing, St. John had ordered all the available ATVs moved onto another Transport, and had it flown out to where the jungle dwindled, many miles to the east. By that time, she would likely be half dead, and it would be child's play for the ATVs to run her down and bring her in. What he had to do, what he had to make sure he did, was keep her from staying in the jungle, and making some sort of distress signal.

He chuckled at the trap he'd set.

In a few days, he would have the Sword of Acorns tapping his left shoulder, and the King would present him with his Knighthood and his Titled Lands. It wasn't as good as a marriage with Princess Sally, but it would suffice. The thought of Sally, however, made St. John grumble. If not for Robotnick, and his damn coup, Elias would be King (a weak King, but still a King), and St. John would be married into the royal family. There had always potentially been the D'Coolettes to content with, but Antoine was weaker than his father and could have been intimidated out of the competition. Elias would be (had been) easy to manipulate, and the House of St. John would finally have received the power it so rightly deserved!

Oh, if only it had been so!

Instead, Maximilian was still King, having survived this long because he spent so much time in the Void, courtesy of Robotnick. That in and of itself was not a bad thing, but his son and chosen successor had renounced his right of royal succession, and so would not be around to manipulate. And Princess Sally, who was NEVER supposed to actually rule anything (except to preside over some lucky Duke's table), was now in line to take the throne itself. And who would then become King (or, just as bad: Royal Consort and Regent)? A blue hedgehog commoner whose only redeeming trait was his ability to run very quickly!

An injustice!

Had Sonic and his poorly recorded family served the Crown for the last half millennium? Had they fought for King and Country during the Civil War? The House of St. John had rallied to defend the realm of Marius II Acorn, and had helped crush the armies of the Pretender and False King. Did Sonic's ancestors fight against the hordes of Merlion the All Khan of Downunda? Did they fight for the Great King Melchoir, who restored the Kingdom of Acorn to greatness?

Hardly!

In all likelihood, Sonic's ancestors were in Mercia, and fought against Melchoir Acorn in 3111 and 3112. He had no right to sit on the Golden Throne! He had no right to be wed into the Royal House! The Princess was a weak minded and idealistic dreamer, who hardly had the stomach to rule a proper Kingdom. And her husband was destined to be an ignorant peon with good legs and fancy shoes.

Still, the House of St. John served the Crown of Acorns.

Elias had renounced the Crown, but if his (commoner) wife's child was truly his (and it almost certainly was), then she could one day take the Throne. There was still hope, then, for a future uncorrupted by the sicker elements in the Royal Family. Like a house infested by termites, part of it could be wrecked, saving the rest.

But all that was in the future.

Geoffrey St. John was convinced that it would be a glorious future, even if it had to be shaped roughly and with a hard hand. All along the perimeter, soldiers of the Mobian Armed Forces dutifully guarded the hasty camp that had been set up. The Transport planes were all under tarmacs, and St. John even managed to set up a large tent for himself and Hershey – though the female feline seemed rather cold, of late.

Perhaps, he wondered, he had been too hard on her the last few days?

It was a distinct possibility.

Hershey was dedicated and hard working, not to mention physically beautiful, but she was not from his upbringing. She was not, in many ways, used to setting duty before personal preference. She would learn, however. St. John was sure that, someday soon, she would be his wife. If they had children (and a doctor had checked and told them they could), then those children would be brought up as part of a Great and Noble House. Hershey would become a Lady of that house.

It was a great step up for her.

"Hershey to St. John. Geoffrey, do you copy?"

He took his radio (Sonic had the gall to call it a 'walkie talkie') out of the small pocket attached to the front of his combat vest. Normally, he preferred a suit (the new standard attire of the Secret Service), but it was hot and wet in the jungle, and a combat vest provided real tangible protection in a firefight.

"This is St. John." He spoke into the radio. "I read you. Do you have good news for me, Hersh?"

"Yes, sir. Good news. ... Maybe. I think you should come and check it out for yourself. I'll be at the western approach to Base Two in thirty minutes. Hershey out."

He wondered what the news, was, and went to take care of a few other issues, before heading to the western approach. He had set up three base camps, each of them a roughly identical rectangle. He was currently in Base Two, which was a little larger and more heavily staffed than One or Three. Base One was a few miles to the north, and base three was twice that distance to the east.

Hershey showed up with the five mobian half-squad she had left with.

She waved as she came into the clearing, but when he got closer to her, she stiffened up and saluted (she did that a lot, recently, he mused). He waved dismissingly.

"So: What's this news you brought?" He asked, and watched as she pulled out a folded letter, and handed it to him. It was written, amazingly enough, in clear and perfect Standard. The Handwriting was beautiful, actually.

'Better than mine,' St. John thought, bitterly. 'And I have excellent penmanship.'

It read:

Visitors from the Far East,

Servants of the King of Acorns and the Golden Throne,

I, Commander Badru, leader of the Panther Tribe, welcome you to our lands. Forgive me for not speaking to you in person, but I am weak and bedridden. Many years ago, I was badly wounded when overlanders from the north attacked our village. If you wish to speak to me, however, I would be most honored to be your host. It is three days walk, one days run, from where my scouts saw you land.

I can only assume you have come here in pursuit of those foreigners who arrived before you. Know that we attacked them because they attempted to steal several ancient and holy artifacts from our local Temple. We responded with what we believe to be justified force. I dearly hope this does not offend the Great King of the East. Several of the criminals escaped us, however, including the group's leader, and have fled into the nearby jungle. You may pursue them as you wish, so long as you will punish them.

I know your King to be both Just and Wise.

Yours sincerely,

Commander Badru, Chieftain of the Panther Tribe

"This is perfect!" St. John snickered as he re-read the letter. "Perfect! Not only is Rouge still alive, and probably in the area, but we have the cooperation of the local Chieftain as well."

Hershey seemed less convinced. "Sir..."

"How did you come by this?" Geoffrey interrupted.

"The letter was given to us by a Panther male making a strange fashion statement. I tried to talk to him, but he didn't understand me. He was with two others, all three had spears." Hershey coughed. "Sir. Doesn't all this seem a little too convenient? I think we should still keep most of our forces on close perimeter patrols, and..."

"Nonsense!" St. John slapped the letter with the back of his hand. "The power of the Kingdom of Acorn has not been forgotten, even this far from civilization! The King will be overjoyed when I show him this letter. And, Hershey, if we keep most of our men at Base, who will search for Rouge and the rest of her ilk? You and me?"

He had spoken that last part derisively, and Hershey frowned. "That is a problem, yes. But I still think..."

"Your thoughts are duly noted, Agent." Geoffrey was in no mood to argue, and Hershey sighed in defeat. "If you have a problem, file a formal complaint. The paperwork is in the Transport."

"Sir, I just think we should be more careful. Maybe wait a day or two before sending more search parties out..."

"Hershey," St. John looked at her stonily. His tone was a warning.

"Yes... sir..." She saluted sadly.

Geoffrey laughed, and placed a playful hand on hr right shoulder. He turned her around, so she stood next to him, and then his hand went down to her waist. Pulling her closer to him, he made a fist with his other hand, and gestured dramatically.

"Trust me, Hersh! Everything is going according to plan!"

She didn't feel reassured.

She just felt uncomfortable.


	7. God of Panthers, Prince of Lies I

The rhythmic beating of a drum was like Commander Badru's own heartbeat. It had been many years since the war drums were properly sounded. While warriors marched to it, Badru harkened back to his past, and his near future. Such auspicious and amazing times he had the fortune to live in! Had the Spirits taken him just a year ago, he would have died ignorant of the true face of his God. What a tragedy that would have been!

Commander Badru had always been a spiritual mobian.

Perhaps, it all went back to his own near brush with death, during the great struggle against the Jaguar Clan. He had been a second tier sub commander at the time, and had earned the right to lead the second wave against a well-defended Jaguar village. The fighting had quickly turned to a melee, and while the village burned, he personally fought face to face with his opposite number: a Jaguar sub commander.

He had been a worthy enemy.

Badru patted the strip of fur that hung from behind his headdress. He had taken that Jaguar's skin as a trophy, as well as other treasures and spoils. However, he had been wounded badly in the fighting, and had lingered for many days at near death. By the time he recovered, he was able to participate in the last few attacks against the Jaguar, before that ancient enemy had been finally and fully crushed.

He had eventually risen to the rank of Commander in part because he outlived all his peers. He had a slight limp, but his health was otherwise superb. He had attributed it to the Will of the Spirits, who (he always thought) had destined him to do great things. Just a few months ago, he had figured that his long life was a reward from the Spirits for helping to destroy the Jaguar Tribe. Now he knew better. The Spirits had wanted him to live so that he would have the honor and privilege of serving a Living God.

And Lord Ysbaddaden was truly a God.

Directing his troops, Badru grinned eagerly. His God was both Wise and Powerful. The foolish invaders from the Far East had done exactly as Ysbaddaden said they would. Whatever strange words had been recorded in the God of Panther's parchment, it had scattered the foreign filth who defiled the lands of the Panther Tribe. They sent out small parties of soldiers to search the jungle.

Another wave of Panther warriors moved past their Commander.

They moved swiftly and silently, blending into the jungle bush. Some elite parties traveled through the trees. Those would be dispatched to destroy the isolated scouting parties of the enemy. The three enemy camps would be bombarded briefly, and then swiftly overrun. All the manpower of the Tribe had been set on this course, and volunteers had been taken from nearby villages as well. Luckily, virtually the entire warrior caste was already in the area, looking for the body or mobian Lord Ysbaddaden so desired to find.

Such an army had not been seen since the war with the Jaguar.

Rank after rank of young warriors marched in step. They normally would have chanted to keep the rhythm, but it was important to maintain the element of surprise. Signal fires had been lit many miles in the rear, to give the impression that the Panther warriors were someplace they weren't. When the attack came, it would be sudden and overpowering.

Badru's only real concern was the lack of veterans.

Normally, an army like he had assembled would have almost as many veterans as young warriors. This was not the case, here and now. There had been little fighting between the end of the war with the Jaguar, and the return of Lord Ysbaddaden. The army assembled was, then, very large, but also very inexperienced. It was normal for any wave of youths to be supported by a wave of veterans.

Badru had only one full wave of veterans to spare for each of the enemy bases.

They, he would hold in reserve as either a Fourth or Third wave. It was slightly unorthodox, but it would work. If the youths began to waver, the older warriors would show them the courage and pride of the Panther, and inspire them to further feats of greatness. Besides, the Lord of Eyes himself had blessed their attack!

How could it possibly fail?

Though silent, all were filled with the zeal to serve their God.

Commander Badru smiled broadly. "By the next moon, the jungle will be cleansed of unbelievers and foreigners!"

His sub commanders nodded eagerly.

"It is a shame Lord Ysbaddaden forbid us capture any of the females," one of them said, speaking up. "I have heard rumor that there is a female feline among them. She may even be a distant descendant of our tribe, by her coloring and her tail."

"I, too, have heard this," another sub commander added. "She would make a great trophy. One who could bear many children! And one I doubt Lord Ysbaddaden would keep for himself."

"Lest you forget, in your day dreaming," Badru chided. "Our Lord God has ordered us to slay all infidels from foreign lands."

More than one sub commander grumbled at that. The Panther Tribe always took captives as trophies. It was part of the reason they went to war in the first place. To be ordered to kill perfectly good females who would otherwise have been taken as impressive trophies was a strange and alien concept.

"Any sub commander caught keeping a foreigner alive will be put to the spear!" Badru insisted, angrily. "There will be no exceptions! The wrath of our Exalted Lord is terrible and swift!"

The grumbling quickly ceased.

"Go now, and when the word comes, fight! The Lord of Eyes will not brook failure! Death is preferable to disgrace in the eyes of our Great Lord!

One after another, the sub commander made their vows, and took their leave.

"Soon..." Commander Badru said, to himself and to the Spirits of the Jungle. "Soon!"

The drums beat on.

* * *

"I hope we find Rouge soon. The less time we waste in this jungle hell the better."

"No kidding, man."

"What's not to love? It's hot, wet and sticky, and we don't have to pay to get stuck in it..."

"Shut up, Rocker."

"Yes, sir..."

"Eyes open, boys. This is a search party, remember? And let's not forget that we're in enemy territory. Keep quiet."

Four mumbles of agreement followed the statement from their commanding officer. The team was operating at half strength, which was normally ten mobians. They were a mixed bunch, the soldiers of Squad Nine, of different breeds, but all served the Kingdom of Acorn and the King that ruled it. All wore the Royal Seal on the left breast of their combat vests: an acorn superimposed on a cross. Four were armed with longer weapons than their leader. The mobian weapons where thin and light, if a little unwieldy, and made with a woodland motif and finish. The group's leader had a carbine, a shorter version of the normal rifle, and moved with more confidence than his men.

"Hey, Corporal Dan! Check it out!" One of the troopers yelled, and pointed to a nearby plant.

"What?" The leader paused and checked the area out. "What is it?"

"Look at the size of that frog!" The Private spoke just loud enough for the rest of the team to hear. "He's HUGE! There! Behind that bush! See 'em? Sucker's gotta be the size of my head!"

The Private pointed eagerly. "I've never seen a 'phibian that big!"

The Corporal frowned, but played along. "Yeah? I've heard there are spiders half again as big this deep in the jungle. They work in packs. Kill anything that stumbles into their territory."

Another Private shuddered. "Source alive, I fucking hate spiders!"

The group got moving again, but another of the troopers added, "Hey, Rogers. What was that word you used? I've never heard it before.'"

"Source, man! You ARE new to this outfit, ain't ya?" Another trooper laughed.

"Hey, I'm just curious," The mobian complained. "What's it mean, anyway?"

"'Fucking' is like 'yiffing'. The meaning is pretty much the same. It's an overlander word."

"You're shittin' me!" The other guy shook his head. "An overlander word? Where'd you hear that?"

"From Daniels in Company C, back home. He heard it from another guy who was at Knothole when the fighting' there started. That guy heard it from a dingo, who heard it from one of the humans," the other Private explained. "It's an overlander word. Or it's dingo. But they yiff like anyone else, so I doubt that."

There was silence for a few seconds, as they hacked through some heavy scrub.

"So... uh," The curious Private started, again. "Is that like the sound humans make when they're doin' the nasty? Fuc-Fuc-Fuc or something?"

"No way!" Another snorted. "I hear they hoot when they do it."

"It makes sense, though!" The guy from before maintained. "I mean, that's where the word 'yiff' comes from, right? That's like, the root of it or something, right? So it should be the same for 'Fuck.'"

"No no no..." The guy who had used the word first spoke up. "You've got it backwards. Humans don't think like us. I heard that the word originally meant something else, and that it just took on the sexual meaning later. The opposite of 'yiff.' In other words, even though the meaning is the same now, that wasn't always the case."

A few more seconds.

Another thick vine slashed down.

Distant drums continued to beat.

"I dunno. That sounds pretty crazy."

"I'm telling ya, it's what I heard."

"From Daniels. In C Company?"

"Yeah."

"Who heard it from some other guy, who heard it from a dingo, who explained all this to him during the Battle of Knothole?"

"Look, when you put it that way..."

"What other way is there to put it?"

"Alright, Mr. Linguistics Expert..."

"I never said I was an expert! I just said it didn't make any sense!"

"Shut up, both of you!" The team's leader held up his hand, and motioned for immediate silence. They paused in their patrol route, and listened for a few seconds. The distant croaking of a large frog, and the buzzing of an insect or two were the only new sounds to be heard. The native drumming in the distance had been going on for hours, and become little more than background noise.

"Hmm." The Corporal slowly lowered his hand. 'Maybe it was just my imagination playing tricks on me, but I couldn't sworn I heard something... moving...'

"Let's keep moving," he finally said, and continued hacking away at the dense foliage. Many feet away, hidden by the jungle that was their home, several pairs of eyes watched.

And waited.

* * *

**THE CYCLE OF AGES: A NEW WORLD ORDER**

**CHAPTER THREE:**

_**God of Panthers, Prince of Lies**_

* * *

Rouge hung upside down from the branch, and adjusted the range of the binoculars held to her face. Of the group, she was the only one capable of scaling and maneuvering through the heavy canopy that was the roof of the rainforest. Not only were her feet and ankles better adapted to hanging for long periods of time, but her physiology protected her from the sudden and numbing rush of blood to the brain. So she hung around, and she watched.

The village was large – much larger than Rouge had expected. She was able to identify a central marketplace, built partly out of stone, and two smaller temple like buildings built as miniature copies of the larger one. The major Temple structure dominated the village easily. It was incredibly wide at the base, and had several steep looking ramps and stairs that led to the rectangular structure at the top. It looked old, too. Most of the buildings in the village were huts of an especially primitive variety, but the Temple looked truly ancient. Strange faces and creatures adorned it at certain places – ones Rouge had never seen before.

'Ancient echidna' was her first thought, but she dismissed it after a more thorough look. Ancient echidna usually used a circular motif, and made extensive use of pillars. Here, there wasn't a round shape in sight, and not even the ruins of a single pillar. Watching it through the high-powered binoculars filled her with, if not a strange sense of dread, an unexplained and unanticipated anxiety.

On the up side, there didn't look to be any Panther warriors in plain sight.

On the down side, she did see more than a few Combots lurking about. There was even an E-1002 unit perched on the Temple itself, though it appeared to be in some sort of Sentry or Sleep mode. The E-Series used a living core, while Combots did not, so they weren't always 100% active and alert. The primitive AI worked while the organic core rested.

There also didn't seem to be any fortifications or standing defenses.

'Well, it is just a village,' Rouge mused to herself, and kept watching. Their target was almost certainly inside the main Temple. The fact that it was more heavily guarded than the village itself made that even more likely. There were several approaches to the Temple itself through the village sprawl, but all had at least one Combot on nearby guard duty.

Clipping the binoculars onto her belt, Rouge slowly scaled down the tree. The last twenty feet, she let go, and used her wings to control her fall. Landing without a sound, she walked a short distance to where he companions were waiting. She saw Omega first.

It was hard not to. He was the largest of the group, and his painting was difficult to hide completely. He had served well as a distraction, keeping more vulnerable members of the team out of harm's way, and continued to serve in that role without complaint. Omega, in fact, had been eager to get into a scrap with anyone or anything, as long as she and Fiona stayed out of his field of fire.

Next to the big robot crouched in the bushes was Rouge's bodyguard: Heinrich von Elbe. A former Master Sergeant in the Dingo Hegemony, he had more than demonstrated an ability to handle himself in tough situations. On the trek towards the Panther village, he had silently eliminated two patrols which had been looking for them. Luckily, he felt no need to gloat over his victories or his beaten foes, and the only things he collected from the bodies were clips of ammunition for Omega's chainguns, which he hand fed into the robot's powerful forearms.

Lastly was Fiona 2.0, who seemed little more than an observer.

And a schemer.

Still, she was the only one who had known the way to the village, so she contributed in that sense at least. The Fiona Doll had not shown any particular physical proficiency with weapons or hand to hand combat, but Rouge doubted that she was entirely harmless. She had no proof, but the she-bat was sure that Fiona probably had poison lipstick, or cyanide tipped fingernails or something to that effect. She just seemed the type.

"Well, what's the word, Boss?" Heinrich asked first, almost casually.

"Fiona was right. Defenses are pretty light, unless the villagers turn on us," Rouge answered.

"They won't," Fiona assured her. "Their caste system was well documented by the overlanders who mapped this region."

"Then we're still left dealing with about twenty to thirty Combots, and at least one E-1002. They'll be coming in ones and twos, but from a lot of different angles, unless we take the time to sweep the entire village."

"Impractical, I'd say," Heinrich said his piece. "Omega?"

"I would have to agree." The robot's voice was deep, but modulated to an exact and appropriately low volume. "If we stick together, the sweep could take hours. If we separate, our chances of all reaching the Temple summit are low."

"As I recall," Fiona said, softly. "Phyllostomids are native to this general region of Mobius. A Tribe and village of this size would surely have at least a few as slaves. With some rags, we could easily disguise ourselves well enough to get close to the Temple. Sergeant von Elbe could then seek an alternate route."

"I don't like the idea of..." Heinrich began to say.

But Fiona cut him off. "Females are not held in high regard in Panther society. They would not see us as a danger, and most would likely simply ignore us."

Rouge snapped her fingers. "The Marketplace. The crowd."

Heinrich frowned, not liking the possibility of leaving his Boss by herself. Omega didn't seem pleased by it either, but he saw and accepted that Rouge and Fiona were most likely going to support their idea, regardless of objections, several seconds before his dingo comrade.

"Use me," Omega said, and the three (really just two) mobians turned their heads to face him. "Use me to draw the Combots away."

"Omega..." Rouge said, carefully. "There may be thirty of them in the whole village. If even half go after you, you'll be extremely outnumbered. You don't even have one hundredth of the ammunition you normally carry. And you've already taken damage. Three or four Combots, I'd imagine you could handle yourself well, but fifteen?"

"If I am destroyed, then I am destroyed." Omega seemed unconcerned. "Regardless, they will not be pursuing you or Fiona. If I must be destroyed, let it be while achieving my mission objectives."

"That is very brave of you, Omega," Fiona smiled knowingly.

"No. Not brave," Omega corrected. "Logical. Besides, destroying Eggman Robots is what I do best."

"Fifteen to one," Heinrich smirked. "Logical or not, you've got nuts. Nuts of steel."

Omega's head bobbed in an amused gesture.

"Alright,' Rouge turned towards the Panther village. "Let's do this."

* * *

Commander Badru opened his eyes.

And held up his left hand.

Nearby, the drum beaters stopped, exhausted.

Far off, other dumb beaters also stopped.

The jungle, once again, was silent.

With another wordless gesture, he motioned forward.

* * *

"Hey!" One of the Privates in Squad Nine cupped his long rabbit ear. "Ya hear that? They stopped playing! I guess some kinda party's over, huh?"

Those were the last words he ever spoke.

In a heartbeat, the deafening chatter of gunfire replaced the rhythm of the drums. The Private who had spoken seemed to dance, his limbs flailing, as automatic rain cut his life terribly short. Three of the five mobian squad had the sense to fall to the ground. Another's head jerked to the side in a spray of dark red, the rest of his body untouched. He gurgled an incomprehensible word, or maybe two, and fell on his side.

"Return fire!!" The team's Corporal barked, and his two remaining subordinates did so. The movement in the brush was more distinct now, and with their systems pumped full of adrenalin, the soldiers tried to track and hit whatever was closest to them. Firing almost blindly, they still managed at least a single hit, attributable due to the howl of pain that came from some hidden enemy.

The staccato sound of yet more enemy fire came from two different sides. Little fountains of mud popped out of the ground, as stray bullets kicked up bits of the forest floor. When a line of fire almost hit one of the Privates, a mobian squirrel just out of his teens, he quickly scrambled to his feet, and despite slipping twice, tried to make a run back the direction they had came.

Watching this, Corporal Daniel Foxx, whose breed matched his name, could only curse in frustration. He tried to trip the Private as he ran with the end of his boot, but by (bad) luck or chance the other mobian kept going. Panicked, he managed only his sixth step before whirling in a full circle, bullets impacting his left side. Whether his vest stopped any of the high-powered rounds or not, Corporal Foxx didn't know. It hardly even mattered. One or two shots had found the Private's face, and that – as they used to say – was that.

"This way! Circle 'round!" He yelled to his last remaining man, and started crawling towards the broad leaves of a jungle bush. The trip of a meter or so seemed like a mile and a half when under enemy fire, but fortunately whoever was shooting at them really wasn't doing so in any coordinated fashion, or with any real accuracy. They also didn't seem to be conserving bullets, and simply 'sprayed and prayed.' When he finally found some modicum of shelter behind the cover of the bushes, Foxx sighed, and checked his weapon.

Next to him, another Private – Private Rocker, a mobian hedgehog whose blue coloring stood out badly in the jungle greens and browns – was breathing heavily, almost hyperventilating. How long had it been, Foxx wondered watching the Private, since those damn drums had stopped?

'By the bloody Source! This is probably happening everywhere!'

Reaching for his radio, Foxx paused when he heard voices.

"AFRAMMU!!" One cried, followed by another and another. "AFRAMMU! BADRUKU!! YSBADDEDEN DRAA!!"

"Surrounded," Foxx hissed, and raised his weapon, eyes searching the jungle overgrowth. On one knee, his aim was steady and reliable. Nearby, Private Rocker was on his belly, rifle ready. His view wasn't as good from his spot on the ground, but he was better protected from return fire.

'Good lad,' Foxx thought, and it was the chance he had for idle things. With a savage cry filling the air, the enemy charged. Foxx saw them first, moving swiftly through the brush. They were felines, but different from the ones back home. Without hesitation, he opened fire. His rifle wasn't fully automatic; it fired in short bursts, and by himself he dropped two of the Panther warriors, before return gunfire made him duck his head. A bullet hit his vest, and he fell back.

Stunned, but alive.

Looking down very briefly, he saw that the round had flattened against his combat vest, and kept it from digging through his flesh into a rib or lung. Rolling onto his side, he aimed for the loudest war cries, and fired blindly. From behind another broad-leaved shrub a Panther emerged, wielding some sort of spear. He fell forward as a hailstorm of bullets flew from the two Mobian troopers, but was followed by another. And another.

Acting quickly, Foxx rolled to his left, and avoided the initial spearing.

He saw, as he moved, that Private Rocker hadn't been as fortunate. He let out a howl as the Panther drove the spear into his prone form. It was obviously not a fatal blow, because he kept screaming, even as Corporal Foxx tried to escape a similar fate. Raising his rifle, he blocked a quick spear thrust, and while backpedaling, he narrowly escaped another.

"DIE! DAMN YOU!" Swinging his rifle, Foxx saw the Panther easily avoid the attack. Instead of another thrust, the flat of the spear came out of nowhere, hitting him in the face. Blinded, he cursed, and in that second something (probably a root) caught his foot, and he fell backwards. Firing wildly with his rifle, he felt but never saw the tip of the spear that ended his life.

He was just one of many dying in the jungles of Cat Country.

* * *

"What the Hell is going on out there?! Corporal! Corporal, respond at once!" His Majesty's Captain of the Secret Service, Geoffrey St. John, screamed into the hand held radio. "ANSWER ME!!"

Nearby, Geoffrey's assistant, a lithe calico black cat named Hershey, spoke in more controlled tones. "Come again, Corporal? Corporal Matthews?" She tried another frequency. "Corporal Foxx? Is anyone reading me out there?"

She winced, her hand starting to shake. "Is anyone alive? Please respond, over?"

"...age garbled. Can't get... There! Agent Hershey?" A voice, one she didn't recognize, came in clearly. "This is Private Luis Bose, Squad Fourteen. Corporal Otto and Sergeant Razen are dead. I've assumed command."

Hershey shook her head sadly. Razen had been one of the four Sergeants on rotation in the field. He was a veteran of Knothole, too. "Private Bose – what is the status of your squad?"

"Not good, ma'am. We were ambushed by natives. The Sarge and Corp took care of a few of 'em before they went down, and so did Private Iko; it looks like we got all of 'em." Bose paused, then added. "We're got wounded here, Ma'am. Myself included. I'm just lucky I remembered to pick up the Sarge's radio."

Geoffrey, having heard Hershey conversing with something besides static, quickly walked over. Without preamble, he grabbed Hershey's radio. "Private – you are to return to Base Camp immediately! I am recalling all patrols, yours included!"

"Yes, sir!" Came the immediate reply from the young mobian on the other end of the line, and a mile or three deeper into the jungle.

"I know what you're thinking, Hersh," Geoffrey said, after taking his thumb off the radio intercom. "But we can't afford to send more troops out into another ambush, not in small groups. All available forces are to stay at defensive positions. At least until we can regroup."

Hershey didn't much like it, but it was probably the right call. "Alright, Geoffrey."

"Just Geoffrey? No 'yes, sir?'" He asked, a little surprised.

Hershey shrugged. "Bigger problems to deal with."

St. John nodded. Then his eyes narrowed, not just at the losses, but also at fact that he had been tricked. "Sixteen squads we had out there. Sixteen!"

"Maybe we should prep for immediate withdrawal," Hershey suggested with only a second's hesitation. "We both know the base camps are the next target, now that we're at half operational strength."

"No. No." Geoffrey waved a finger at her, as if he was a teacher and she just a small child. "Ambushing a couple of patrols is one thing. Camps have defenses. Machine guns. We're safe enough as long as we stay put."

"Are you sure, Geoffrey? Suppose we do stay put, and suppose they don't have the nerve to attack us. How long do we sit here?"

He obviously didn't like the question, and answered it with one of his own. "More to the point: why are they attacking us? And who wrote that letter?"

Hershey's eyes widened a bit when she saw where he was about to go.

"Rouge!" Geoffrey slammed his right fist into his left palm, hard. "Rouge had to have done it! She's obviously behind this whole thing! I wouldn't be surprised if she planned this from the beginning! First, she lured us here by veering off course and avoiding Mercian airspace. Then she blows up her supposed only means of escape to make us think she was attacked by natives, and get us to land. THEN she forges that letter! She's masterminded this whole affair!"

"But why?" Hershey asked, trying to calm him down. "I mean: look at this rationally, Geoffrey! She could've escaped if she wanted to. And there were dingo bodies in the wreckage of that Transport we found!"

"Don't you get it, Hersh?" Geoffrey shook his head as her apparent blindness. "Those dingo were probably just dupes! She killed them to make the illusion more convincing! Remember: this is the same female who almost revealed the location of Knothole a year ago! She's admitted working for Robotnick during the war!"

"Yes, but.... But why do all this?"

"To humiliate me!" Geoffrey answered, angrily, totally convinced that he had cracked the mystery. "To discredit me and humiliate me! If not kill me outright! I've been after her for three months now! She knows the only way to get me off her back is to have me killed or worse: shame me in the eyes of the King!"

"Geoff, I..." Hershey started to say, before a voice from both their radios cut her off.

"This is Lieutenant Enders of Base camp One! We are under attack! Repeat: we are under attack!"

Geoffrey handed Hershey her radio, and used his own to respond. "Come again, Lieutenant. Come again: Base Camp One is under attack?"

"Yes, SIR, 'Special Agent,'" Ender's voice didn't hide his dislike of the Secret Service particularly well. Very few officers in the MAF had a good opinion of the King's Special Agents, who occupied all higher echelon command ranks in the Mobian Armed Forces. The highest real military rank was Lieutenant. All higher ranks were occupied by Agents of the Secret Service, who insured that the King maintained both political and effective control of the military.

"The Base Camp is taking sporadic fire from the jungle," Enders elaborated. "We are returning fire, but we've already had a few wounded, and one killed. What is more disturbing, SIR, is that we are taking plasma fire as well."

"Plasma fire?" St. John asked, honestly surprised. "How can that be? What would these savages be doing with plasma weapons?"

"I think, SIR, that we are dealing with Combots acting in concert with the native peoples. That is simply my opinion, however, as we have yet to confirm the presence of any Eggman robots in the area."

"Eggman robots?" Geoffrey pursed his lips. "No! Robots from that base! Reprogrammed! But it hardly matters – Hold your ground, Lieutenant! Teach them what it means to attack the Kingdom of Acorn and the soldiers of the Golden Throne!"

"I fight, as always, for His Majesty the King," Enders replied. "You may wish to know that I have also informed Lieutenants Hacon and Utler in Base Camp Three. If the fight comes to Camp Two, I suggest you listen to Lieutenant Ollers, SIR, as he has field experience when it comes to command."

Implying, of course, that neither Geoffrey nor Hershey did.

"Thank you, Lieutenant. That will be all," St. John answered, gruffly.

Enders cut the communication from his end.

"Insubordinate little..." Geoffrey growled, his eyes searching the Base Camp. "Hershey! Find Lieutenant Ollers and bring him to me!"

"Right away," Hershey said, and ran off.

Not bothering to watch her go, Geoffrey St. John reached into his vest, and pulled out a pistol. His new uniform, vest or no vest, lacked the elegance of a hand crossbow, but he would do without it. He had thirty-two shots worth of ammo to back him up.

"If Rouge thinks I'll run with my tail between my legs..." Checking the clip, he snapped it back into place. "She's wrong. Dead wrong."

* * *

"I can't believe we're just walking in like this."

Fiona spared Rouge a quick look. "Strange as we appear to them, most of these mobians are more interested in our companion."

Rouge and Fiona were amid a throng of Panthers. Here, in the tail end of the Marketplace, they got far fewer strange looks than they had when first entering the village. They had seen a few very young Panther warriors, just children really, but those boys hadn't approached them, though one had pointed and laughed.

A meter or so ahead of them, Omega got the most attention.

Aside from being large, and a bloody robot, the locals seemed to keep a respectful (almost reverential) distance from him. It was more than simple fear. They muttered softly, and some bowed their heads when he got closer. It got Rouge thinking.

'Do the Panther worship robots?' She wondered. 'It may explain why there are so many of them in and around the Temple.'

Fiona seemed the most anxious of the three. Rouge had seen another Phyllostomid, if only briefly, and most of the natives didn't give her more than a second look. Fiona, however, was unlike anything they had seen. More than one child had grabbed her long furry tail and given it a sharp tug. Fiona responded simply by snapping it back, and hitting them in the face with remarkable strength and control. The toddlers always ended up on their rumps, crying.

Fiona had grinned happily.

Watching her android companion, Rouge looked behind her at her own tail. It was small and almost furless. The only Mobians to have less of a tail were the humans and overlanders (and so much as call them mobian, and you're likely to end up punched in the face or shot). Even that Freedom Fighter girl, Amanda, had a little fluffy cottontail. She normally wasn't too self-conscious about it, but growing up amid Mobians who had more 'interesting' tails had not been fun in her childhood. Idly, she wondered if her child would have her tail, or Miles' great furred tails. If it was a girl, chances were that she'd take almost all her physical attributes from her mother, but there was always the chance of a true hybridization.

What if the girl ended up with two of Rouge's tails?!

She shook her head at the thought, and concentrated on the present situation she was in. The Marketplace had a surprising variety of things in it, from the interesting (one portly Panther was selling some exotic and interesting wicker baskets), to the alluring (there were more than a few fine smelling fruits being bartered for), to the repulsive (skins and slaves). Were she not in the situation she was, she'd have been happy to make a few acquisitions of her own of the non-gruesome variety.

Then, Rouge saw a young Panther with a spear heading in their direction.

Fiona saw him too, and nudged Rouge before motioning in his direction. The two females tried to blend into the crowd, even going near one of the food vendors and pretending to be interested in getting something. The warrior, however, was persistent. He approached the two, and said something in the Panther language.

"Blatmu gami attu li ga!" He pointed his spear at then threateningly. "Blatmu gami attu li ga! Annla! Annla!"

"Epu chomma kee. Epu nin attu li," Fiona bowed her head, and looked to Rouge. With a resigned look, Rouge acted similarly.

"Matamu. Kacha ka!" He motioned for them to come with him. "Annla! Annla!"

"He wants us to come with him," Fiona explained, speaking softly.

"We don't have time for this. OMEGA!" She shouted, and the robot was there in a heartbeat. Rouge pointed to the Panther warrior. "Get rid of this guy, would you?"

"Of course!" One of Omega's chain guns emerged from his right forearm.

"Ah!!" Rouge held up a finger.

Omega sighed, and the chain gun retracted again. Not particularly eagerly, he reached over, and picked the little warrior up by the back of his neck. Seeing the robot acting in support of the two females, the warrior (little more than a child) dropped his spear, and started babbling.

"Cammu Cammu! Effa Kappa Ysbaddaden ka! Cammu ka!"

Omega looked at Rouge, hoping she'd give him an order he's like. She didn't, and so Omega had to content himself with throwing the Panther boy to the ground. The young mobian quickly scrambled away, leaving his weapon behind. Rouge watched the expressions of the other Panthers with amusement.

"Omaga..." Rouge said, teasingly. "There'll be Eggman robots to destroy. Don't waste your time on small fry."

Omega perked up at that. "Yes. You are correct."

"Of course I am." Rouge pointed to a stand with several beaded body wraps on display. "Now: If you would, get me that red one with the yellow beads. Oh, and that plain brown one, too."

Omega reached over and swiped them. The Panther selling the clothes bowed his head repeatedly. Rouge was tempted to clean him out, but in a flash of humanitarianism (how did that word enter the mobian language, anyway?) let him be. She quickly put on the red body wrap, and handed the brown one to Fiona. The Doll looked at it with displeasure, but sighed and put it on, while wrapping her tail around her waist. She ended up looking like an overdressed portly female of an indeterminate breed.

Rouge tried not to laugh.

"All right. Let's just get moving," Fiona grumbled, crossly.

"Omega. Go on ahead. We'll head for the Temple once you're gone." Rouge then added, "Good luck."

"I, for one, do not believe in luck," Omega headed further down the Market thoroughfare.

"If we survive this, remind me to take him to Casino Night." Rouge ducked into the crowd, followed by Fiona, and watched as Omega picked up his pace. 'Luck or not, I hope he knows what he's doing.'

Omega had no idea what he was doing.

Well, that was inaccurate. He had a very general idea of what he was doing. First, he would get the attention of the local Combot force. Then, he would lead them on a chase through the jungle. And then he would destroy them, singularly or in groups. And then he would head back to the village, and the Temple, and make sure Rouge and Fiona were safe and had accomplished their mission. Maybe he'd also see if Rouge's bodyguard had made it that far. The dingo was a soldier, but he was, in the end, expendable.

Rouge and Fiona, by the dictates of his programming, were not.

He no longer took any pains to hide himself, and soon enough he saw one of the Temple guards, the one nearest to the Marketplace. Omega was tempted to pick him off with a spray of lead from his chain gun, but decided against it. His ammunition supply was extremely limited, and the actual rounds were of the simplest design. If he had been loaded with discarding SABOT rounds, then he would've squeezed off a few.

He would just have to improvise.

Checking to see if any of the Panther locals were close, and seeing that most gave him a generous distance, Omega powered up the rocket motors attached to his legs and lower back. With a roar, they came to life, and lifted him into the air in a high jump. He didn't have the power to fly, like an E-1002 could, but he had enough juice to make impressive jumps. Without even having to fire, he got the attention of several of the local Combots.

They opened fire, and plasma bolts filled the air. Several missed, but a few scored cleanly. One of the Combots in particular was very accurate. Even though they were all externally almost identical, there were small differences between Combot Models. The better shot was probably a veteran, likely an A or B Series made before 3236. Probably had a Combot cloak, too.

Had Omega a mouth, he would have grinned in eager anticipation.

Maneuvering himself to land in the jungle, he lowered his arm, and took a few potshots. They'd never be enough to destroy one of the Combots, but the former soldiers of the Eggman Empire would head out in force if they knew he was still armed, and that was the point. As he plummeted through leaves and branches, Omega performed a quick self diagnostic. The plasma blasts that had hit him didn't do too much damage (they were weapons meant to be used against organics, not fellow robots, much less heavily armored ones), but enough pinpricks could kill an elephant.

And most Combot plasma rifles could be adjusted to fire 'hot,' and damage other robots more effectively. Recalibration took a minute or two, but the Combots would be smart enough to make the adjustment on their way into the jungle. Heading deeper into the rainforest, the robot codenamed E-123 only hoped he'd managed to draw enough attention to allow his organic associates to penetrate the Temple defenses.

And if Fiona and Rouge died...?

Omega's programming didn't even let him contemplate it.

* * *

Looking at herself, Hershey began to wonder.

It felt good to be minus her clothes, if even for a short while. Fashions had steadily encouraged females, if not males, to wear more and more. It wasn't called the 'overlander look,' but Hershey knew that was the general idea. Instead, it was called 'dingo inspired,' as they were the only mobian breed who wore the most over their furred bodies. Even the echidna wore less (the males anyway). Her Secret Service uniform was tight, confining, and not particularly comfortable. Changing into it was a pain, and getting out of it a relief.

Pulling the shirt over her head, Hershey then added a heavy combat vest, and closed the front first with a zipper and then with a set of nylon straps. Putting on pants was a more alien experience. She had briefly worn a catsuit, but had not enjoyed the (ironic) experience. The skirt that was part of her Secret Service uniform was a step up, but still constricting. She inched the pants upwards slowly, careful to position her tail so it fit into its brace at the back. Once at her waist, she then tightened the rear strap over the base of her tail. The belt came next, and that fit through loops in the pants, but first she had to tuck in her undershirt.

Vest and pants on, she then stepped into and strapped up a pair of combat boots. She had always worn boots, and these were an old familiar pair. Next, she slipped on the additional arm guards. They would do little to protect her from a bullet, but would (slightly) mitigate the damage from a plasma bolt hitting her arms. There, too, there was irony. The guards, an advanced polymer fabric, had been designed (at least in part) by Miles 'Tails' Prower, back in 3236, and MilesTech was the company that continued making and selling them. And MilesTech was the same company that they now had a Royal sanction to raid for the profit of King and Country.

As well protected as any mobian could be, given the circumstances, Hershey started loading up on offensive firepower. Grenades would be useful, but they were in short supply. She only had four, and they went into straps on her heavy combat vest. A semiautomatic pistol found a place on her right hip. It was a virtually identical copy of the semiautomatic handguns that the Kingdom of Acorn had tried (with limited success) to ban, many, many years ago.

Lastly, came her rifle.

The weight felt strange in her hands. She was a good shot with handguns; Drago had taught her to fire personally, and he was handy with them, too. She had gone on to become a crack shot with a traditional bolt-action rifle, too, thanks to her former paramour. It was, she supposed, the only good thing to come of her relationship with him. Well, that, and the sex, which had been (to be frank) incredible.

But an automatic, especially a cut down carbine, felt odd to her.

She regretted leaving her old rifle back in Mobotropolis, but Geoffrey had insisted. As accurate as she was, her rate of fire was very limited, and that was what seemed to count, now. Hershey disagreed, especially now that the Kingdom's enemies were more likely to be mobian than robot, but she kept her mouth shut and didn't make waves. She picked up a few clips, and put them in two ammunition pouches. She then loaded the semi-automatic rifle, and turned off the safety.

Leaving the tent, she winced her eyes at the natural light.

And the heat.

The Base Camp was a mixture of tension and panic. Most of the troops were at their positions and simply waiting. Those without a concrete place to stay, walked, paced, and wondered. Geoffrey was wearing a similar set of combat gear, the only real difference being that he had a thicker tail, but the straps at the back of every pair of pants could fit virtually any tail a mobian could have, so he didn't need a different version. Hershey felt like a male, as covered as she was by clothes. Like most mobian females who had attractive bodies, she felt a little strange covering it up so much.

"Here," Geoffrey handed her a helmet.

"Thanks," She said, and put it on. The strap under her skin instantly felt itchy, and it took a few seconds for her ears to find the slots in the helmet and emerge. Now, she felt like a male and a turtle.

"You sure you want to do this?" He asked, more than a little trace of worry to his voice.

Hershey nodded. "I'm sure, Geoff. We need to relieve Lieutenant Enders. Like you said, there shouldn't be more than a couple hundred of these natives, and if they're smart they'll concentrate their resources on one Base Camp at a time. We break their first attack, we break them all."

He frowned, still not totally liking the idea that she was going to be leading the expedition. But Hershey had been adamant. She gave him a quick wink. "I'll be back. Just hold down the fort."

Nearby, four squads of mobians were checking their gear. She was starting to turn, to walk towards them, when his hand took her shoulder, stopping her. She pivoted, facing him, and saw that he had a strange expression on his face. He dropped his hand from her shoulder, and instead took one of hers in his.

"Hershey," He said, after a moment's hesitation. "Marry me."

"What?" She almost squeaked, and then whispered in a more conspiratorial tone. "Not the most romantic of moments, Geoffrey."

He shrugged. "I'm not the most romantic of guys."

For a second, she remembered....

'We'll be together forever, won't we, Drago?'

'Forever, baby! Forever!'

"I... I..." She blinked a few times, until all she saw, all she heard, was the mobian in front of her. "I think I'll need to think about it."

"I'll expect a 'yes, sir' when you get back." He smiled, charmingly, and she remembered why she had fallen for him in the first place. She stepped forward, into his arms, and the two kissed. Never before had they done so in public (Geoffrey was a prude when it came to public displays of affection), but they did so now. Hershey felt good to be in his arms again, and for a few wonderful seconds forgot about the jungle hell that had ensnared them, and the battles that were ahead of them.

Then, it all came crashing back.

Breaking the kiss, Hershey took a few steps backward, turned, and signaled the volunteers she had assembled. A minute later, she led them into the jungle. No more than ten minutes after she was gone, St. John's radio buzzed, demanding his attention. A second later, without his prompting, a worried voice began to speak.

"Sir! This is Lieutenant Hacon. Sir, I'm afraid I have to report that Base Camp Three is under stack from enemy forces." A pause. "I believe the enemy is encircling us. And by us, I mean all three Base Camps. You may want to reconsider ordering a withdrawal..."

St. John slowly lifted the radio to his lips. "No, Lieutenant. No retreats. Fight for the Crown. Die for the Crown, if you must."

Another pause.

"Permission to speak freely, Sir?" The Lieutenant asked. Sporadic gunfire could be heard in the background.

"Permission to speak freely... denied." St. John pressed a button, cutting the conversation short. He had little interest in what Lieutenant Hacon had to say. The male was a coward, but he would hold his ground as ordered. Or he would hang when they got back to Mobotropolis. The choice was, in the end, his.

St. John smiled, crookedly. A male like Hacon... would never have survived long in Overland. Would never have completed his mission and lived not to tell of it. The Kingdom would not miss a creature like him.

Not in the least.


	8. God of Panthers, Prince of Lies II

His eyes were wet with tears, and blurred the jungle's foliage into an undifferentiated mass of green. Strong hands tore through braches, pushing past leaves and thorn covered vines. Grief and desperation drove him forward, every forward, long after his gloves ripped to shreds and fell to the ground in tatters. How long had he been running? He did not know anymore. He did not care.

His stomach rumbled for the hundredth time, demanding food.

For once, there was none.

'Forward!' cried The Voice. 'Almost there! Forward!'

"Almost there! Almost there!" He managed to say, between panted breaths. "Almost there!!"

It was dark, but somewhere ahead was the light of torches and fires. As he ran, he could feel the Emerald in his hand glow, tingling his nerves. It was eager for him to find his friend. It had guided him this far...

Rushing through the last few plants that barred his way, He paused in shock and horror. The smell hit right after the sight of it all, and to his humiliation and self-loathing, his belly grumbled in reply. Eyes wide in lingering disbelief, he fell to his knees. Around the bonfire, several other felines – black ones – jumped to their feet. Some had spears, and one had a gun of some sort. He hardly paid them any mind.

"N... no... no..." He inched forward on hands and knees. Towards the fire pit. "No..."

The Panthers watched him with curiosity, and then amusement. They started to point and laugh, as he tenderly took the body from where it was impaled over the flames. He burned his hands, but scarcely cared, cradling the tiny corpse in his arms. Large unblinking eyes, blackened by smoke, stared mutely back at him.

They were dead.

Empty.

"Akka ma chu kaa! Ebamtu!" One of the Panthers approached, his spear leveled at the half starved, but still imposing, stranger. With a barking laugh, he stuck the small body with the tip of the spear, and said something incomprehensible to his comrades. They all chuckled.

"Stop! No!" He grabbed the shaft of the spear, and pulled it out of the Panthers hands. "I won't... I won't..."

"Taffa! Echam Aframmu! Aframmu ka!" Another of the Panthers yelled, and they were upon him. Weakened by hunger and devastated by grief, he was no match for the party of Panther warriors. They slashed him with their spears, causing bloody but non-lethal wounds. Like his old friend, he was no threat to them, so they could play with him first.

He screamed and cried and thrashed, while he had the strength, and managed to throw back a few of his attackers. But they came back; move vicious than before. More blows came: from the flat of a spear, causing a painful welt, from the edge of one, leaving a long scar. Kicks came as he curled into a ball on the muddy ground. One caught on his right ear, and tore it. He howled, an empty dead sound, and that provoked more laughter from his attackers.

For what seemed like an eternity, the beating continued.

But he was in a far off place, and barely felt the blows. Slow calm music began to play, distancing him from the real world. Out of place from the serene calm he felt came a rising anger. He had always been slow to anger, and liked to think of himself as a creature of peace. He didn't want to fight. He didn't want to hurt.

But he was being hurt.

He would die soon, like his friend had. Was that the price of peace? Was that the price paid for living a simple and peaceful life? He heard a seductive whisper, but couldn't quite make it out.

'No!' he thought. It was so unfair! He had done these mobians no harm! He had lived a peaceful life! What had he done to deserve this? What had he done?!

The whisper grew slightly louder. Words. Words.

'What have I done?' He wailed. 'What did either of us do to deserve this?'

Louder, still, the voice grew in time to his anger. His desperation. His rage. Feeding it. The words quickly became more distinct. He recognized it.

It was the Emerald.

It was trying to help him.

Trying to save him.

'kill them...' It whispered. 'kill them...'

'I... I...' He was a creature of peace. 'I can't...'

'Kill them." It whispered. "Kill them!"

"I..." His own voice wavered, as fear and anger mixed in his heart. What had he done to deserve this? NOTHING! What had his dead friend done? NOTHING! They killed him! KILLED HIM!! Images forced their way into his mind, juxtaposed by the eerie music, and the sound of a far off organ. He... He...

Back in his body, another kick smashed in his face.

"Kill them! Kill them!"

He...

His friend's body lay in the dirt, black and charred.

"Kill them! KILL THEM!"

He...

Hated...

His hand reached out, and felt a comfortable tingling sensation as it gripped the fallen Emerald. Almost instantly, a flood of power entered his body. His vision became red, and with a feral hiss, he leaned upward, and brought his hand up in a wide arc. The Emerald in his palm hit one of the Panthers in the face with surprising force. He remembered, clearly, how it tore off the other mobian's jaw and sent him flying to the side. The Panther warrior, who had once been finishing off a beaten foe, stumbled for a second, fingers clutching the torn flesh of his cheeks, searching for a mouth that was no longer there.

**"KILL THEM!"** The voice roared. **"KILL THEM ALL!!"**

The others backed off, fear in their eyes.

**"TEAR THEM TO PIECES! MAKE THEM SCREAM!!"**

It took a second to get His footing back, but when He did, he towered over the Panther war party. The injured one started to scream – a horrid gargling sound. The Panther leader, the one with the gun, raised it and fired. He felt no pain, and lunged. Long into the night, they screamed. Only when the sun rose the next day did the last of them die.

Standing amid the mauled bodies, a hulking figure bellowed a mad cry.

In the trees, a flight of birds left their roost in the jungle canopy.

Hundreds of miles away, a large figure opened his eyes. Great curving tusks made the creature's outline distinct, even from a distance.

"He is little more than a brute, this one," Mammoth Mogul spoke in a tone once revered by millions of subjects, thousands of years buried and dead. "Still, I suppose he will serve ... you well, now that you have broken him."

Another pair of golden eyes glittered in the darkness. "He is now: Ysbadadden reborn, remade... Not better, but well enough for our purposes. He will find the One I Seek, this God of Panthers..."

Next to his Master, Mammoth Mogul sneered at the choice in name. "He is no Ysbadadden, this beast you have unleashed. He is not even worthy of the name."

"Perhaps not." The other replied. "But he does not have to be. After all, there are only three beings in this world that remember the original. For the time being, a pale imitation will do."

* * *

Rouge watched the other she-bat for some time as she and Fiona walked through the Panther village. It was strange, seeing one of her own kind this close up. Her only clear memories of other Phyllostomid mobians were of her mother and father, and the stories they had told her about their 'old home' in Cat Country. The other female bat, one of several held captive by members of the Panther Tribe, was shorter and more frail than Rouge herself, likely a result of comparatively poor nutrition.

She was also brown.

The other Phyllostomids had also been brown. Aside from the body shape, and the wings, they didn't really resemble her, Rouge realized. Was the different? And if so, why? Her father, she remembered, had also been brown in color. Her mother had been peach and white – maybe it was some strange hereditary trait in her family? She briefly considered asking Fiona, suspecting that the annoying android would know the answer, but decided not to. Not only was it an inopportune moment to have an idle conversation, but Rouge was not keen to be beholden to the fake Fiona.

They were rapidly approaching the ancient temple that the Panther village had been built around. Omega had done a superb job drawing out many of the Temple's robot defenders. Heinrich was also doing the same, and only a quarter of the normal guard remained behind, the rest chasing Omega through the jungle or Heinrich through the streets. Rouge wished her dingo bodyguard luck. Heinrich was good, but he only had two handguns to fight with, and neither will full ammunition. Against a half dozen Combots...

"Dear Rouge," Fiona interrupted her companion's thoughts. "I do believe we are being followed."

"Followed?" Rouge whispered. "Are you sure?"

"Would I be mentioning it if I wasn't?" Fiona asked, with a small smile.

"Alright." Rouge started to say. "I'll..."

"Dear Rouge, do you trust me?" Fiona asked, quickly, as they walked side by side.

Rouge almost laughed. "Trust you? Not as far as I can throw you!"

Fiona nodded her head. "Yes. That is probably wise..."

And, without warning, Fiona stopped walking, and grabbed Rouge's right arm. Before the she-bat knew what was happening, Fiona spun her around in a full circle, and then released her grip, throwing Rouge back and into another mobian with a yelp of surprise and anger.

"Geofre Ka!" The mobian Rouge had been thrown into yelled, and pushed her off him. They were both on the semi-wet ground, and Rouge silently cursed Miles' rebuilt Fiona Doll. Using her as a distraction to escape?! The thought made Rouge's blood boil. Holding up her hands in a pacifying manner, she quickly got to her feet.

The panther male, an older looking sort, also got to his feet, but more slowly. A dark looking metal blade fell out of the robes he wore, and he quickly picked it up. He looked at Rouge for a moment, as if examining her, when something else caught his eye. His head turned just as little, before Fiona was behind him, one hand on his left shoulder, another cupping his chin. Rouge watched, totally shocked by the andriod's sudden reappearance, that she almost didn't see one of Fiona's fingers tap the Panther on his carotid artery.

The older Panther opened his mouth to speak, before his eyes became half closed, and he started to slump. He tried to speak, for a second time, but two of Fiona's fingers kept his lips from moving. From behind the larger Panther male, Fiona's blue eyes moved to an empty space between two large huts.

Rouge understood the wordless suggestion instantly. Together, the three entered the de facto alley. Rouge went first, brushing away a large spideweb with her hands. Fiona then led them a little deeper and around the bend of the hut on the left, so that they were totally out of sight.

"You could've warned me," Rouge complained, while Fiona set the semi-conscious Panther against a wall.

"The betrayal had to look convincing," Fiona said, simply. "This Panther is a shaman among his people. Somehow, he knew we were out of place here."

"A shaman?" Rouge asked. "How do you figure that? He looks like any other scruffy feline here."

"The pouch around his neck is used only by Shamans of this Tribe. Inside are several neck bones of whoever mentored him. They are used to predict the future, much as Blood Rituals are used to see the future in the Bat Tribe."

"You don't say?" Rouge wondered if Fiona knew she had little to no knowledge of her own people. Now wasn't the time to ask. "What did you do to him? Is he dying?"

"As I told you... I am no fighter." Fiona held up her right hand, and Rouge saw her claws tense up. "But I am not defenseless."

Rouge glared. "Poison claws? Why didn't you use those before?"

"I did." Fiona gave Rouge a halting look. "It is only that no one noticed. "Which is as it should be."

Rouge raised an amused eyebrow. "Do you have poison lipstick, too?"

"Dear Rouge... are you that curious to find out?" Fiona puckered her lips playfully.

Rouge snorted in annoyance. "So this guy is what? Paralyzed?"

"For several hours, yes." Fiona became serious again, and approached the prone panther. "He will still be able to talk, and I would like to see what information he may be able to supply us."

Fiona then spoke in the Panther language. It seemed to take some convincing, including Fiona showing off her claws, but they soon coaxed him to talk.

"Kabbal is his name." Fiona said. "He served this... god... called Ysbadadden. He speaks of it as if it were a real creature, living within the temple."

"Is it?" Rouge asked.

The Fiona Doll scoffed. "Don't be ridiculous. A 'god,' real? It is just a tribal superstition that some Panther Priest is taking advantage of."

"Do you recognize the name?"

"Ysbadadden?" Fiona responded. "Yes. He's a member of an obscure pantheon of deities called the 'old gods' that predates Source or Aurora worship by a millennium. Some pre-war religious scholars speculated that they arose during the early years of the Pre-Republican Mogul Era. With the recent discovery that the entity known as Mammoth Mogul was, in fact, the founder of modern mobian civilization, that would date the religion to around a thousand years before the adoption of the Mogulian Calendar."

"Ysbadadden," Fiona continued, "Was the God of Panthers. He was also called the Lord of Eyes, because he supposedly possessed five of them. Religious scholars speculated that he was the weakest of the Seven Racial Gods who, in turn, served Mogul. The others included Rhadamanthus, the eldest and most powerful, Ignatius, who was considered the wisest, Mulciber, the generic 'trickster' type deity, Saffire, some sort of fertility goddess, Elishiva, a god of creation, and Reptilian, a god of destruction."

"Rhadamanthus bakra? Elishiva ta Saffire ta Reptilian bakra?" The Panther hoarsely asked, his tone showing surprise.

"He wants to know how I know the names of the old gods," Fiona explained, and faced the Shaman. She spoke again in their language, and the two conversed for a minute. Rouge only understood one word: 'Mulciber.' It was mentioned several times by the Panther Shaman.

"Fiona?" Rouge asked for a quick translation.

"He thinks that the 'god' Ysbadadden in the temple may, in fact, be another 'god.' Mulciber. He claims that their deity is acting out of character." Fiona rolled her eyes. "Or something to that effect."

"Ask him where this god came from. Was he always in the temple?"

Fiona looked at Rouge in a new way. She was impressed. "I will ask just that."

Again, the back and forth jibberish. Rouge occupied herself by looking over the roof of one of the huts towards the towering temple mount. She was convinced, more than ever, that there was no way the Panther could have built it. Supposedly, there had once existed great and powerful civilizations in Cat Country around the time during and after the Carnivore War, but the Dingo had destroyed those centuries ago. Was this one of the great temple ziggurats built by the Anghor or the Sorrun Yannai? Rouge had read about them (she was a treasure hunter, after all), but never actually seen one.

Her treasure sense started tingling.

She had seen gold and jewels at the Marketplace, but nothing truly exceptional. What if there was a magnificent treasure hoard inside the temple, guarded by some crazy old priest and a malfunctioning Tails Doll? She was already incredibly rich, but most of it was money she had gotten through Miles, besides: what sort of story could you boast about there? With gold and gems, however, every piece was not only a valuable treasure, but a source of pride as well!

"Dear Rouge? Rouge? You're drooling."

"Oh. Oh! Sorry." Rouge wiped her lower lip, and smiled. Fiona gave her a strange curious look, before getting back to business.

"The Shaman here says that there used to be a Godhead inside the temple – basically a statue in the god's likeness – but that about a month ago it mysteriously broke. Several temple servants were accused of the act of blasphemy, and were due to be put to the spear and flayed for. Apparently that is standard punishment for blasphemy of any sort..."

"Regardless: on that day, when the temple servants were to die, he appeared out of the jungle. This Shaman, Kabbal, says that the newcomer looked exactly like the godhead, except much larger. Larger than any normal Panther. He claimed to be the Ysbadadden, a god made flesh. None dared question him, given both his appearance and the timing of his supposed return."

"Sounds like a set up to me," Rouge added.

"I'd agree with you there." Fiona sighed. "After he appeared, and made residence in the temple, he ordered the Panther Tribe to begin searching the jungle nearby. He brought in nearly every warrior from the entire Tribe, from every nearby village, for the task. The Shaman even says that he was ordered to speak to the nearby Tiger Tribe to see if they found anything. The god was looking for a body. A mobian body."

"Miles!" Rouge made the connection instantly. "They were looking for Miles!"

"Given the appearance of a powerful Chaos Signature in the area around that time... yes. I'd think so." Fiona gave Kabbal another quick look. "He also told me that the god was obsessed with this. He works the Tribe into the ground and threatens war with nearby mobians. He has had Panthers executed for failure. Almost a hundred, from what I hear. This behavior is why this Shaman believes they are under the rule of the trickster god Mulciber. The robots, which he believes to be magically animated suits of armor, are the god's personal guard."

"How can that be?"

"The Tails doll could have found a way to disguise itself as this god of theirs. With the Tribe under his control, he has less need for me, and hence the trap we walked into." Fiona sounded almost insulted. "And he sounded so sincere, too..."

"Never trust an AI," Rouge replied with a smirk.

Fiona 'hmfed' and looked away. "Well, I've learned all I can from this one. We'd best keep moving. If Omega and Sergeant von Elbe are killed, the robots will return to guarding the temple."

Rouge didn't like how casually Fiona spoke of others dying, but ignored it for the moment. "Right now, there are only a few guarding the temple. Do we force our way in?"

"Yes. At this point..." Fiona started to say, but was cut off by the immobile panther. Fiona's ears twitched as she listened to him. After a few seconds, the android faced Rouge again.

"He says he can get us in," Fiona explained.

"Why would he do that?" Rouge asked, wary. "Wouldn't he be risking the wrath of this god of theirs, whatever his name is?"

"You forget, Dear Rouge... this god wasn't just after Miles. He wants me, too. Hence all those patrols that chased us after we escaped. If asked, he'll claim he was delivering me to his god. And if we kill this creature masquerading as Ysbadadden then, obviously, he was no god, and there was no fault in betraying him." Fiona nodded her head. "He is quite smart, this panther Shaman. He even guessed that I was a 'vixen' – a word not in the panther language."

"But he's paralyzed," Rouge pointed out.

Fiona shrugged. "I have a counteragent. He won't be running any marathons, but he'll be on his feet. You're the leader here, Dear Rouge. It is your decision to make."

Rouge thought about it for a few seconds, before making up her mind.

"Do it. And tell him that if he turns on us... I'll shoot his legs off." Rouge took out and brandished her plasma pistol.

Fiona did as Rouge asked.

And while she did, Rouge looked again at the temple. Her sixth sense, her 'treasure sense' was still tingling, literally. It had never failed her in the past when it came to tracking down valuables, especially gemstones. But... this time... there was something a little different to it. There was some apprehension, yes, but that wasn't it. Nor was it excitement or fear.

A... hunger... maybe?

"We'll find out soon enough," Rouge said to herself, and put her gun away. 'Miles? Are you really alive? Are you really out there? I never got to tell you, Miles...'

Her hand touched her stomach. Mobian infants were small, and she wouldn't begin to show for another month or two. For the time being, it was still her secret. For the time being.

'I never told you, or Tempest. What if the kitsune came for my baby, like they eventually came for you? What if... you wanted them to?'

* * *

It was a well-known fact that cats hate water.

Certainly, it led to a number of jokes by canine comedians about felines in general. "How can you tell how often your feline girlfriend bathes? Kiss her and see how many hairs end up in your teeth!" "How many cats does it take to turn on the shower? Just one, as long as there's a canine forcing her into the spray!" Hershey, of course, kept herself clean using water, like any other mobian, but she still didn't like being wet. It made feline fur very sticky, and she had no idea why. More than once, Drago had taken a shower with her, or bathed with her, and he'd dried off an hour or less after leaving the water.

Hershey had to wait half a day to dry off.

So, when the Cat Country rainforest lived up to its name, she inwardly cringed. Even with her combat vest tight to her body, she could feel her fur getting soaked and matted. Leading her troops through the jungle, she saw only one other feline – a tawny brown furred male. He, too, looked unhappy with the sudden precipitation.

'No wonder so many of us left this cursed water-logged place,' Hershey thought, angrily. 'This backwater hellhole.'

For a couple agonizing minutes, it simply rained harder and harder, and then, suddenly, it was over. Little more than the occasional big drop fell to the earth, which had been thoroughly soaked into mud with the consistency of black pudding. Somewhere in the distance, a chorus of croaks came from the large native jungle frogs.

"Maybe they should call this Frog Country, huh?" One of the troops joked.

"Or Frog Forest!" Another added.

"Hey, check it out! Shrooms!"

Hershey looked around, and saw a few on one of the trees. They grew, in seconds, from small brown buds into fist-sized mushrooms, invigorated by the sudden downpour. They reminded her of the large mushrooms native to some parts of Angel Island. Except for the differences in coloration, there were very nearly identical. The echidna were mushroom connoisseurs, and used them in a number of dishes. Knowing this part of Mobius, however, the mushrooms were probably poisonous.

Up ahead, she heard gunfire, and promptly forgot all about everything else.

Holding up her left hand, she motioned soldiers to her left and right. Creeping low to the ground, they advanced, weapons ready. Basecamp One was only a half mile or so ahead. Lieutenant Enders last message had been that they were under heavy attack by warriors of the Panther Tribe. Hopefully, the troops she had brought with her would help to drive off the Panthers and relieve the Basecamp.

Continuing through the jungle, Hershey heard more gunfire, but it was only one or two shots. Not the sort of sustained fire she would have expected. Closer and closer she came, and she started to see battle damage done to the nearby foliage. She saw the occasional shallow crater caused by a grenade, broken branches and trees with bullet holes in them. She also saw bodies: Panther bodies.

Finally breaking into the extreme edge of the clearing where Basecamp One had been built, Hershey gasped. Next to her, she heard another mobian growl. Ahead of them, where once Basecamp One had been... there was fire. Two transports were in ruins, burning where they had landed. Around the wreckage, Panthers moved, collecting and organizing bodies, spearing or shooting the occasional wounded survivor. Some were strung up and being bled, while others were being ritually skinned.

Taking out her binoculars, Herhsey looked for any indication that Mobian soldiers were being held captive. Scanning the camp's ruins with growing rage and disgust, she confirmed that there were no survivors. Not a single one. Lieutenant Ender's head, impaled on the shaft of a spear, stared back at her with dead blood-drained eyes.

"Bastards...!" A nearby soldier snarled. Murmurs of agreement came from all around her. Hershey knew she probably should have headed back the moment she learned that Basecamp One had already been lost. Instead, she looked around, evaluated the area, and ordered men to her far left and right.

She then tore down several branches, and smeared herself with mud. Lying down, she faced the burning Basecamp, and aimed her weapon. It wasn't her trusty bolt action, but it would have to do. Setting the weapon to single shot, she took careful aim through the telescoping sight she had screwed into the handle. Her breathing slowed as she concentrated, even as her heartbeat grew faster and louder. She took careful aim, and fired.

In the middle of the Baseamp, one of the Panther warriors with a high headdress fell to the ground.

Missing the upper half of his head.

Hershey quickly moved onto her next target, and fired in between breaths. Another Panther fell. She moved onto another one, also with a high headdress. He was yelling something to the rest. Hershey pulled the trigger, heard the loud 'crack' of her rfle firing, and saw him stumble and fall. The other panthers started to run around, yelling and howling. Some fired wildly in her general area.

All their shots were far over her head.

"Locate. Aim. Execute. Locate. Aim. Execute. Locate. Aim. Execute. Locate. Aim. Execute..." Hershey said the words Drago had taught her, years ago. Dead. Dead. Dead. Dead. She missed a shot, trying to hit one of the Panther commanders who had decided to run for cover, but the second shot took out his left leg. The third silenced him forever.

"You're a natural, babe! I've never seen anyone as good with a rifle as you!" Drago's voice almost made her cry. They had been so happy, just the two of them, before Drago had been seduced by promises of power and wealth. They had been happy, just by themselves, living off their skills and their wits.

"Hey, hotshot! You think you're good with a gun? I bet these two pistols here that my girlfriend can shoot better than you!"

Crack! Dead.

"Oh Drago! He doesn't mean it! I'm not that good!"

Crack! Dead.

"You've got a deal, buddy! If I can't outshoot your little lady there, then I don't deserve to even hold this rifle!"

Eject the empty cartridge.

"The target will be... how about the leftmost leaf of that tree, there?"

Reload a new one.

"Ha! No problem!"

Crack! Dead.

A leaf shot off.

Crack! Dead.

A can shot through the center.

Crack! Dead.

An ace of diamonds, held by Drago himself.

Crack! Dead!

A deer, their dinner, that night in the woods when...

When...

"Drago," she had said, softly in his ear. "Drago? I... I love you Drago..."

"I love you too, Hersh."

"We'll be together forever, won't we, Drago?"

"Forever, baby! Forever!"

"Damn you... Drago..." Hershey blinked, tears in her eyes. She fired again, and another Panther died. And again. And again. Bullets roared overhead. They knew where she was, but couldn't do a whole lot about it; she was too low to the ground. They had finally organized into a charge. As they got closer, fire from the concealed soldiers Hershey had brought with her cut them to pieces.

Then she heard a scream from her right.

"Combots! COMBOTS!!" Someone yelled.

Hershey knew what that meant.

"Fall back!" She yelled, and rolled off to the side and out of position. The Panthers were falling back to regroup, and with Combots trying to flank them it was time to retreat. Once a fair distance from where she had been shooting, Hershey got to her feet, and started to run. She joined several others, and they ran back through the mushroom forest. The force left at the Basecamp, she knew, couldn't have been all of the one that had attacked it. There were more Panther warriors in the jungle than anyone had suspected.

It was time to leave.

Rouge be damned, it was time to take whoever was alive, and head home!

* * *

The three slowly made their way up the long flight of steps.

Rouge had her hand ready to draw her gun at any second, while Fiona, wrapped tightly in rags to hide her identify, helped their 'escort' walk. The temple exterior was divided into tiers, of which there were four. The lowest tier was the temple base, which rose only about a meter off the ground. The second tier had most of the strange inscriptions on it, and steeply rose another three meters. Between the second and third tiers, was the largest rise, well over thirty meters. This was where most of the remaining robot guard were stationed, as it led right up to the 'Reliquary.'

There was a tier above that as well, with two flights of steps to the left and right of the Reliquary entrance, but Rouge didn't know if they were used for anything. There was an alter at the top, but no one seemed to use it. At least not recently. The temple building was far larger at the base than it was in height, making it very different from the Sandopolis ruins on Angel Island which Rouge was more familiar with.

Some had claimed that those ruins were haunted, but Rouge had never seen any ghosts on her trips there. She dearly hoped, in this little excursion, she didn't run into any 'gods' either. Unlike her android companion, Rouge was not so keen to dismiss the supernatural. Miles had demonstrated strange and incredible powers – who was to say he was unique in that respect? Though she had never seen him, she knew the creature known as Ixis Nagus had also wielded bizarre powers.

The Combot guards, on seeing them with Kabbal, let them pass.

She couldn't understand the words, but she assumed the Shaman had passed them off as concubines to this creature calling itself a god. Up the last of the steep steps, they came to the entrance to the Reliquary. Once inside, Kabbal stood off to the side, unwilling to go any further. It was dark inside, lit only by braziers on the hard stone floor. It looked recently cleaned, and orchids and flowers were piled against the walls. Still, it was obvious that this was only an attempt to cover up less savory odors.

The temple walls were a sort of etched marble, with strange ideograms and pictures near the ceiling. It was larger than she would have expected, with a ceiling high enough to allow even an overlander enough headroom. Stairs descended deeper into the body of the temple ziggurat, and in the flickering light of the pitch fires, the inscriptions seemed to move and glow with a hellish luminosity.

And that feeling from before... that strange hunger.

Grew stronger the further down she went.

Rouge took out her gun, and felt some comfort in the feel of the plasma pistol in her hand. She checked the side and made sure it was powered up to the highest level. She would only have a few shots before the battery depleted when the gun was 'running hot,' but at such close quarters, she was sure she wouldn't miss. She also felt better knowing that Fiona had some tricks up her sleeve as well.

The steps ended and opened up into a larger room, long enough to be a hall. The ceiling here was very high, making the hall seem narrow in comparison. Faces adorned the highest reaches of the walls, and in the half-light they seemed to look down mockingly at those below. Many had eyes that twinkled with precious gemstones, giving the glaring, laughing, hateful faces a crazed look.

Nearing the end of the hall, Rouge heard whimpering.

There, in the smaller room just after the hall, she saw an echidna in ripped red clothes. She was holding her left wrist, which had obviously been broken by the way it hung at an unnatural angle. There was also a large welt across right collar. She cringed at the sight of others, before realizing that neither of them was a Panther guard or Combot soldier.

"An echidna?" Fiona asked, honestly surprised. "What...?"

"I am Ere-La, of...Albion..." The mobian in question answered.

Fiona stared down at her with a familiar look. Rouge recognized it – the android was trying to see if it felt sympathy. By the casual look on her face, Rouge doubted the Fiona Doll would ever truly be capable of it.

"You... you must be the vixen He wanted..." The echidna said, and winced at the pain in her wrist. "You shouldn't have come. Your friend... it is too late for her."

"Private Grant?" Rouge asked.

"It is too late... for any of us now. You never should have come." Ere-La closed her eyes, and curled into a ball on the floor. "Never..."

"Hang on, ok?" Rouge knelt down next to the girl, and tried to comfort her. "Just hang on a little while. After we're done here, we'll take you home."

"Home?" Ere-La looked up at Rouge with a stunned expression. "They... they would not want me... I have been... been..."

Rouge could imagine. She held up a finger, and 'sssh'd her. "Just try not to move. We'll be back soon."

Ere-La blinked a few times, and shook her head. She curled back into a ball, muttering incomprehensibly. Hesitantly, Rouge stood back up, and motioned for Fiona to follow her deeper into the heart of the temple. Further on, they came to an archway that may once have had a door, by the small grooves cut into the ground. There was nothing now, except an inscription above the arch itself.

"Second Among the Great Host,

Ysbadadden the Watcher,

Ysbadadden the Lord of Eyes,

Ysbadadden the God of Panthers;

Any may enter his sanctum,

Only his servants may leave it."

"Thank you, Fiona."

"It was my pleasure, dear Rouge."

"Let's just get this over with." The she-bat advanced slowly through the archway, and into a small antechamber. Around and to the left, they went, when a deep laughter made them pause. A second later, something broke with a loud 'snap,' before falling to the floor with a soft 'thump.'

"DON'T BE SHY!" A slow deep voice came from around a corner. "AFTER ALL, I AM BUT A MERE MORTAL IN THE GUISE OF A GOD! SURELY THERE IS NO RATIONALE FOR FEAR?"

Fiona and Rouge exchanged looks, and continued forward with more than a little visible hesitation. Around another corner they saw something large and black move in the poor lighting of the temple, and then it was gone, back amid the shadows. Even before they saw the room in full, they smelt it.

The smell of a slaughterhouse.

"LAST NIGHT I WAS NOT OF A KIND MOOD, IT SEEMS." The voice resounded off the walls, echoing. "CAN A GOD HAVE NIGHTMARES? IT SEEMS ONE CAN, AND DOES."

The main chamber was a mess – bodies were strewn about, slumped against blood stained walls, and lying limp on the floor. It smelt of death and incense, so strong Rouge gagged, covering her mouth with the back of her hand. Advancing through the room, careful to avoid the pools of blood, the two saw the beaded curtain to the room's antechamber move. Leveling her weapon, Rouge sneered at the thought of the carnage that surrounded her.

"Come out!" Rouge yelled. "Show yourself, you coward!"

More laughter behind the beads.

"Come out. Or are you only good at killing defenseless females?" Rouge baited.

"YOU WILL JOIN THEM SOON ENOUGH," the voice responded, and a huge black hand parted the bead curtain. It was followed by a massively muscled arm with very faint stripes, a huge black furred body, and a head with a gaping maw of shark-like teeth. Three eyes glowed a blood red, and light from behind the monster's head indicated two more there. Ears curved back and upward, like horns, and a thrashing tail with the head of an eyeless snake only accentuated the unnatural horror that had emerged from the antechamber.

"What... the hell...?" Rouge took several frightened steps back from the monster. Next to her Fiona had a look of puzzlement, as if trying to find some rationale for the existence of the thing before them. Worse, vying for room on Rouge's mind with her shock, disgust and horror, she felt that sense of hunger rising to a fever pitch. It was like a compass, and this being before them was its north pole.

"I HAVE NO NEED FOR YOU, SHE BAT." The monster took a thunderous step towards them. "ONLY YOUR VIXEN FRIEND."

Fiona's eyes flashed green. "You... you're no god."

Ysbadadden snarled. "NO?"

"You're just meat. Just another organic." Fiona raised her hands and flexed her claws. Rogue didn't need to hear another word. Her index finger tensed, and the plasma pistol in her hands fired. At full power, there was a short delay between trigger and release, but when it did, a bolt of bright green plasma shot out at over a kilometer a second.

Ysbadadden didn't even try to dodge.

The bolt hit him square in the chest, blowing a bloody hole in his body. Fur and skin and flesh burned and sheared away, but the God of Panthers hardly seemed to feel the wound. His grin widened, putting his maw of teeth on full display. There was another thunderous step, and then another, as he closed the distance. One of the corpses underfoot was simply crushed.

"How...?" Rouge heard Fiona gasp.

"Damn it! DIE!" Rouge pulled the trigger again, and another supercharged bolt of ionized gas hit Ysbadadden, exactly where the first had landed. There was another spray of gore as the plasma burned and ripped into the creature's insides. Still, it kept coming. Rouge fired a third time, hitting the same spot yet again. This time, Ysbadadden did pause, as the blast shot a stream of green and red out the back of his body. For a second, it looked like he had died on his feet.

Then, he started to laugh again.

And charged, faster than before. Rouge managed one last shot, hitting the God of Panthers in the face. Then, she had barely enough time to move, as a giant clawed hand slammed into the ground. Rouge scrambled, as another swipe barely missed her head. He was facing her, and she could see that part of his face had been burned to the bone. Still, he came. Still, he laughed.

Rouge dodged another swipe, and kicked up and into the creature's jaw with every ounce of strength in her body. Ysbadadden hissed as the blow removed two massive teeth. Rouge wasn't finished there, however, and added two more parting kicks before jumping back and away. She nearly made it to the floor, her course aided by her wings, when the underside of Ysbadadden's left hand managed to catch her. She spun from the glancing blow, hitting the ground and skidding along a puddle of blood and other fluids.

"DO YOU THINK THIS COULD KILL ME?" Ysbadadden snorted. "HARDLY!"

Rogue barely saw Fiona, jumping, heading towards the God's back.

"AND YOU, LITTLE VIXEN...!" Ysbadadden whirled, catching Fiona in his right hand. "DID YOU THINK YOU COULD SNEAK UP ON ME?"

'Eyes in the back of his head,' Rouge thought, miserably. 'What the hell is this thing?'

"FINALLY! I HAVE YOU! WHEN YOUR SECRETS ARE MINE, I SHALL TRACK DOWN THE ONE MY MASTER SEEKS, AND BE REWARDED!"

"m... Master?" Fiona asked, hands on the creature's oversized wrist.

"I KNOW HIM ONLY AS MOGUL. HE HAS PROMISED TO BRING BACK TO LIFE ONE WHO WAS KILLED. WHEN THAT IS SO, AND THIS CURSED PANTHER TRIBE LIES IN RUINS... ALL WILL BE WELL ONCE MORE!"

"Mogul?" Fiona's eyes twinkled. "And who did he have you searching for out here?"

"YOUR CREATOR. I CAN'T IMAGINE WHY, AS I SAW THE BOY'S BODY LOWERED INTO THE GROUND. MAYBE THE BOY HAS A CLONE OR RELATIVE OF SOME SORT RUNNING AROUND. IT HARDLY MATTERS. IF HE CAN BE FOUND, I WILL DO SO!"

"I see. You're just a tool, then. You're just Mogul's little puppet god." Fiona smirked, and dug her claws into Ysbadadden's wrist.

"AND JUST WHAT WAS... was..." the God of Panther's voice wavered, and his grip weakened. Fiona wriggled out of his grasp, and with surprising speed and grace ran along his arm and jumped at his face. Slashing him with both hands, she flipped over his shoulder and jabbed her claws into his back as she fell, so fast her hands were a blur. She landed behind him on both feet, and looked over her shoulder at Rouge, as if to see what condition she was in.

Fiona seemed about to say something, when she gagged. Rouge had blinked, and in that millisecond had missed what had happened. Ysbadadden's tail, replete with jagged jaws of its own, had clamped onto Fiona's neck. Amazingly, it lifted the Doll off her feet, and slammed her to the ground before tossing her against a wall.

Slowly, Ysbadadden turned.

His right hand was a bloody mess, with skin and flesh slouching off bones. His face, too, seemed to be festering and melting away from Fiona's poisons. And yet, he lived. Balling his fists, Ysbadadden let out a roar that chilled Rouge to the bone. She felt a pulsing power from within the so-called god, and in that moment, realized what it was: A Chaos Emerald.

Ysbadadden started to laugh, louder and louder, as his body knitted back together, fighting injury and poison. Two of his eyes re-grew, their pupils dilating in her direction, while the others watched Fiona. Teeth slowly emerged from his jaws, to fill the gaps she had made when she kicked him. In seconds, it was over, and he was restored.

It was as if they hadn't done anything at all.

"IT SEEMS I WILL SOON BE NEEDING A NEW HAREM." He reached for Rouge. "ANY VOLUNTEERS?"

"n.n.no. No! Stay away!" Rouge fired at the hand, and a plasma blast ripped off two of the god's fingers. Rolling out of the way, Rouge backed up against the wall and away from the hulking God of Panthers. Then, suddenly, the wall wasn't there anymore, and she fell through the beaded curtain Ysbadadden had emerged from. Looking up at the ceiling, she saw a body pinned half to the walls behind her.

"P... private Grant?" Rouge blinked, and saw that even though the female's eyes were open, and her chest rising with the occasional breath, she may as well have been dead. The wounds on her body, the look on her face.... She had been broken. In every conceivable way, she had been broken. The sight of the dingo woman in such a state, combined with the sick laughter from the main room, was the nail in the coffin, and Rouge screamed.

Dropping her pistol, she simply screamed and ran, deeper into the blood drenched temple. Even this far back, there were bodies. Broken and mutilated bodies, and blood splattered words and hand prints on the walls. And behind her, the thunderous steps of Ysbadadden hunting her down drove her to new heights of terror. Before she knew it, she was pushing her way past another beaded curtain, and into the last room in the temple.

Immediately, she tripped on something and fell on her face. Groaning, she looked up, and saw what seemed to be a small shrine, and next to it the unmoving body of a Tails Doll. The eyes were dim, and the head slumped. The tendrils that normally came form the Doll's shoulders were also lifeless, and there seemed to be some sort of cancerous plantlike growth on the side of its head. Disturbed, she reached for what had tripped her, as she got to her feet, searching the room for some hidden exit. To her surprise, what had caught her feet and caused her to fall was...

A fishing rod?

Desperate now, she checked the shrine. Lots of temples had hidden switches that opened concealed doors, and what better place than a shrine for one of those? The alter itself was a small thing, with the ruins of what looked like a small statue swept into the back. Replacing it was the decaying body of some small animal. There was no fur, so it probably wasn't any sort of mammal, though there was so little left of the charred little body that it was tough to tell. Narrowing her eyes in the poor lighting, she did make out the general body shape fairly well, though.

"A... frog...?" Rouge heard a loud thud from behind, and turned just in time to see a hand reach through the curtain, and grab her leg. She fell onto her back with a scream, before being dragged out of the small room. Though the beads, she saw Ysbadadden towering over her, Fiona in one hand, her leg in the other.

"ENOUGH RUNNING."

With immense strength, the giant easily picked her up by her leg. Rouge could feel the power of the Emerald in Ysbadadden's body, filling him with energy. Filling him with hate. He was no god – he was a demon. A demon some twisted mind had created.

"TIME... TO DIE."


	9. God of Panthers, Prince of Lies III

The melody was soft and sad, but Rouge smiled when she heard it. Cupping the tiny music box in her left hand, she felt perfectly content, perfectly at peace, just listening to it and watching the small crank on the side slowly spin backwards. It was lacquered wood but otherwise plain, missing emeralds or jewels or gemstones of any sort. Still, she valued it more than any treasure she had acquired over the years. This music box was the last gift her father had given her.

The last gift before he died.

Gently, she ran her fingers over the open lid. On the inside cover, built into the wooden frame, was a simple mechanical caricature of two figures dancing. Back and forth then went, back and forth, while the music played. Together forever. Like she had imagined her mother and father would be. Just then, she felt arms wrap around her waist, not tentatively, but softly. Eagerly. Happily. She felt a body behind her, warm and knowing and understanding.

"You ok, honey?" A voice. His voice.

"Yes. I just... zoned out for a little while there." Rouge blinked, and looked up and away from the little music box, as the tune drifted off and ended. The two figures stopped dancing. Now, she heard heavy rain, making its own steady music as it fell. She looked around – at the dresser nearby, old oak and finely made, at the rock-pattern walls that she knew weren't actual stone, at the silk drapes, at the darkened window wet with condensation. At the king sized bed in the center of the bedroom.

At the kitsune fox who held her in his arms.

"It's been a long day," Miles said, eyes half lidded, looking at her with a casual intensity. "A good night's sleep will help."

He lowered his head, and brushed her cheek with his own while letting out a sigh. She savored the feel, remembering how, only rarely, he was contented enough to nuzzle. It was either a kitsune or vulpine thing, since no other male she knew had a similar habit. It was like a kiss, but more intimate, because only he did it. It, like so much about him, she had only begun to understand and unravel in the short time that they...

That they...

Rouge squeezed her eyes shut, and shook her head slightly, trying to process the half thought that formed in her mind. She felt Miles step back, and the safety of his arms leave her alone again. Just like when he left to face the... face the... Again, the thought half formed, before dissipating like smoke in the breeze. Rouge carefully put the music box back on the dresser, next to other amenities, including an open case with a ring in it, and a picture. A picture of their wedding day.

There was Sonic, and Sally and Tempest and that echidna: Knuckles.

And Miles and her.

And she remembered it, like one remembers a dream. But this felt real. So very real. Outside, the rain kept coming and coming, and distant thunder rumbled. Looking to her side, she saw Miles head for the bedroom's adjacent bathroom. A jacket, his by the size of it, hung on a nearby chair next to a walk-in closet. She saw a logo: Prower Dynamic Aerospace Technologies. Miles' corporation. Or was it hers? Or both of theirs? Why couldn't she think straight?

Why?

Outside, another crack of thunder sounded, louder than before.

Rouge was about to say something, even she wasn't totally sure what, when her sensitive ears (much more acute than Miles' own already powerful hearing) heard footsteps from outside the room, and past its open door. Two sets of footsteps. They were moving quickly, too. Who else did they live here with?

Why didn't she know?

Then, in came two children, and with muted shock Rouge realized that they were hers. Both had wings, black batlike wings, just like her own. They looked otherwise vulpine, with full heads of hair, one a cream white and the other an orange-brown. The girl of the two, by the look of her and the small bow in her hair, had larger ears more like her mother's than her father's. Both sported twin kitsune tails and their father's coloring. The boy has strange violet eyes, but the girl had eyes like hers: turquoise.

Outside, the thunder cracked, even louder.

Almost as if it was getting closer.

"Mommy!" "Mom!" They chorused, and ran towards her. Acting instinctively, she picked up her daughter when she jumped, letting the male of the pair instead jump onto the nearby bed. Rgoue watched her 'son' stand on the bed, as if he had conquered it and claimed it as his own.

And her daughter...

How had this – no: when had this happened?

"Hey!" Miles yelled playfully from the bathroom, turning off the faucet. "Didn't I already put you two to bed?"

"I couldn't sleep!" The half-kitsune boy on his parents' bed announced, "I wanna sleep with you guys!"

"The thunder," the girl spoke, much more calmly. "There's something different about it."

The other child instantly grew more serious, and looked at his mother with piercing violet eyes. He then craned his neck, and watched Miles walk in. The older kitsune smiled warmly, and patted his son on the head.

"I'm sure you've heard louder, scarier noises coming from the downstairs lab." Miles said in a lecturing tone. "A little rapidly expanding air won't hurt you. Not from this far away."

"Dad?" The boy responded. "Isn't it a little strange to have thunder without lightning?"

"Thunder without lightning?" Miles scoffed. "It's a storm. There's plenty of lightning."

The fox once called Tails picked up his twin tailed son, and took him to the window. The boy spared a look at his mother and sister, and Rouge could've sworn she saw a tear roll down his cheek. Looking down at her daughter, she saw her staring back in a sober manner. Rouge felt more confused than ever, now.

"What's...?" She started to say.

"Mother. Please listen carefully," her daughter, still in her arms, cut her off. "Listen very carefully, the next time you hear the thunder."

There was silence for a few seconds, and then another roar from outside.

A clap of thunder that sounded...

That sounded almost like a voice.

"He's going to kill you, mom," the little girl said it with a straight face, and a level tone. Rouge blinked in surprise, and incomprehension. She blinked again, and saw a face – a terrible face. She blinked again, and saw a hand, reaching for her. She blinked again, more fiercely, and saw a desecrated shrine in a temple, deep in the jungle, broken and stained with rust red blood. She didn't want to blink again, after that.

"I don't understand," Rouge said, even if it was only a half-truth.

"You aren't strong enough. And father... isn't whole," the girl responded, cryptically, her voice conspiratorially low.

"Who are you?" Rouge asked the girl she knew to be her daughter: her flesh and blood.

"You haven't named me yet." The little girl slowly smiled. "Maybe you never will. But, like my brother, I was born with power, and more importantly: knowledge. Father told you how, when a kitsune dies, his memories are psionically passed on to his closest genetic descendant. I have father's memories; brother has his memories, and those of our grandfather as well. I also have the power to help you... the power to save two lives at the cost of one."

Rouge licked her lips, nervously. "But..."

Outside, the thunder sounded, louder and more terrible than before. Deep within the sound, Rouge swore she heard a single word.

DIE.

DIE!

DIE!!!

"We don't have much time. You'll know what to do. You have to! Brother's counting on it!" The girl's hands glowed, and in that instant, she plunged them into Rouge's chest. She saw her daughter only for a fleeting instant more, before closing her eyes again.

When she opened them, she saw only the grinning face of Ysbadadden.

The Emerald enhanced giant held her upside down by her left leg. Laughing, the monster's sawtoothed jaws grinded together, a long trickle of drool rolling down his chin. Somewhere inside the so-called God of Panthers, a chaos emerald fed him power, making him nearly invulnerable; even flesh melting toxins and bone-shearing plasma had done nothing but force him to regenerate more vicious and monstrous than before. Rouge couldn't imagine what events had turned such a creature so mad, so evil; so sadistic.

So twisted.

Behind Ysbadadden, his snake-like tail snapped and hissed.

Rouge saw Fiona struggling in the demon's other hand, but it was obvious she had no way of escaping. Rouge's own weapon, her plasma pistol, was both out of reach and ineffective against the Lord of Eyes' regenerative abilities. She felt the panic, the fear, and the helplessness threaten to overwhelm her; to push her into the pit of despair and defeat that had already claimed to many lives within the blood stained walls of the Panther Temple.

"TIME... TO DIE."

'no...'

Rouge opened her mouth to scream, but only a gasp came out.

'no...!'

Somewhere, deep within her body and soul, something stirred.

'nooo....!'

Fiona 2.0 ceased her struggles, and turned to face Rouge, dark blue eyes scanning, openly aghast. "Im... Impossible..."

'NO!' Rouge finally found her voice, and with it, power. "NOOO!!!!"

Ysbadadden, God of Panthers, Lord of Eyes, drew back as his eyes widened. "EH?"

"I WON'T DIE!!" Rouge held out her hands, as if to push away the sneering monster. "I WON'T!!"

"WHAT... IS...?" The so-called god never got to finish his sentence. A heartbeat later, there was only blinding white-hot light and then bottomless darkness.

* * *

Combat Unit Model 001867-36E System Log

Date: D15033 3237

Standing Orders: Terminate E-123 Rogue Unit

Action: Scanning Area

:Infrared

:Ultraviolet

:Magnetic

:Visual

Eighteen Sixty-Seven's head pivoted to the left, and back to the right, searching through the thick foliage. At his sides, two other Combots were doing likewise, as the small group moved through the jungle. The vines that caught occasionally on arms and legs were armed with razor sharp spines, but the Combots were lucky enough to not have to worry about rainforest irritants. They could concentrate on moving and finding their quarry.

It was via the broken and snapped branches and vines of jungle plants that the Combots followed their target's trail. The ground was moist, but the bulky E-123 left enough of a footprint to also follow. For the most part, the Combots operated their search pattern using infrared or magnetic sensing. Robot bodies, though cold to the touch, still gave off heat – from generators, weapons systems, and other essentials. Magnetic was the preferred mode, as it could 'see' another robot through a wall, or other intervening body, but with that function distance was a factor. In all likelihood, their target was still a half-mile ahead of them.

"Getting something. East. Fifty three degrees, twenty one minutes."

It was Twelve Twenty. Eighteen Sixty-Seven processed the information from the statement, factored for the difference in location between 'himself' and Twelve Twenty, and made his own search. This took half a second. Indeed, there was some movement in that location, as well as an infrared signature. It wasn't organic, Eighteen Sixty-Seven could tell even from a quarter mile away. The heat was all wrong. Meat generated thermal energy very differently: almost sloppily or haphazardly.

"Prepare to engage." Eighteen Sixty-Seven had to relay the order verbally. Combots were not built to allow interunit communication. They had to rely on command units, like Tails Dolls, to give them either direct orders or mission statements. From there, individual subcommand units gave orders to tactical units. The hierarchy was not as efficient as a hive consensus, but (up until recently) they had been taking orders from a flawed organic who preferred this system as a means of control and redundancy. No single unit could compromise the system.

"Pattern C Seventeen," 'he' added, and the group advanced in a shallow encirclement.

Twelve Twenty fanned out to the right, and Ten Eighty One took the left. The ground got softer underneath their steel feet, every step punctuated with a flat squishing sound, and then a wet suction. Droplets fell from the jungle leaves and canopy. High above, a tree frog croaked. Eighteen Sixty-Seven kept the target in sight and ignored the distractions. This was easy for a robot. He was not a real AI – only a sophisticated computer following a series of pre-programmed directions and guidelines.

There was a certain purity to it.

Of course, that was something Eighteen Sixty-Seven would never be able to appreciate anyway. He was a killing machine, not some high-minded philosopher. His pace quickened, and he readied his rifle. Ahead, the heat signature remained motionless. A quick probability analysis ran as he advanced, and calculated that something was amiss.

"A trap." Eighteen Sixty-Seven called out his finding to the other two, raising his voice. "Regroup!"

Eighteen Sixty-Seven's calculations were correct: it was a trap.

But he and his were already in it.

Fast and heavy, something crashed through the trees high and to the left. Red bolts of plasma fell from an overloaded plasma rifle. Eighteen Sixty-Seven saw Ten Eighty One take two precise hits to the chest and fall, his own overloaded weapon spurting fire inaccurately, the signal to squeeze reaching his hand a millisecond too late. The loss of his comrade did not really concern Eighteen Sixty-Seven, except for the fact that it made completing of their mission more difficult.

'He' took careful aim.

An overloaded rifle only got so many shots in, but a regular bolt would only have limited effect on another model of combat robot, especially a late E Series. Another two bolts wizzed by, barely missing Eighteen Sixty-Seven. His target hit the ground near where Ten Eighty One fell. Eighteen Sixty-Seven's noted that Twelve Twenty was advancing to get a better angle, and stood his ground, lowering to one knee. It sunk an unexpected few inches into the jungle muck. Eighteen Sixty-Seven quickly compensated.

He could see the E Series ahead and behind a thicket of bushes. Eighteen Sixty-Seven held his fire, as the foliage would 'catch' a good part of the first bolt he fired. After two point five seconds, and another probability sim, the Combot decided to take the shot, regardless, rather than wait out his target. Eighteen Sixty-Seven fired twice in quick succession, counting on the first shot to disintegrate the foliage ahead of the second, which would follow in its wake.

The moment the first bolt was fired, however, his target moved, a blast of white-hot thermal radiation blinding Eighteen Sixty-Seven's IR sensors. It was the E-123's jets – the other robot must have turned around. With all the speed it normally operated at, Eighteen Sixty-Seven switched to Magnetics, and made a search of the area to reacquire his target.

It didn't take long.

The E-123 was in the air, a bluish blur on a white background. Part of it moved – the right arm – but nothing was in the air. A second later, before it could re-aim its weapon, something large and heavy impacted Eighteen Sixty-Seven's body frame at the upper torso. The force knocked the Combot on his back, sprawling.

Switching to visual, damage warnings flooding its CPU, Eighteen Sixty-Seven saw what had hit it: a log, about seven feet long. It had been invisible when using Magnetic vision. If he had switched to visual after his IR sensors were blinded, then the trick wouldn't have worked, but the E-123 had known that it was Standard Operating Procedure to switch to Magnetic vision for short range engagement of other robots. Eighteen Sixty-Seven searched his database, and found no reference to such a maneuver. How had this E Series done it, without a set of pre-programmed commands and functions?

Was it an AI?

No: no E Series was a true AI since the problems with Gamma. No robot was capable of creative thought. No robot could think outside the confines of its programming. The answer was simple, then: this E Series had a modified, or more up to date, set of functions. Were it a Tails Doll, it may have felt something akin to envy. Instead, Eighteen Sixty-Seven forced the log off his slightly bruised frame, and resumed the mission.

Standing Orders: Terminate E-123 Rogue Unit

Unfortunately, Eighteen Sixty-Seven was now alone in having to fulfill those orders. Twelve Twenty was out of action, given the fact that the rogue E Series had just blasted several holes in it with a short burst from its internal chaingun. Eighteen Sixty-Seven raised his rifle to quickly take a snap shot. He only managed to get one off, scoring a hit on the E0123's left shoulder that removed a sizeable chunk of red armor, before the other robot unleashed another short burst, small flicks of flame signaling the rain of bullets just before they hit.

More damage warnings.

Eighteen Sixty-Seven noted them, especially the one indicating that his primary battery was among the damaged systems. More important to the completion of his mission objectives (than his lasting existence) was the fact that his rifle was also damaged – two of the rounds having penetrated the plasma accelerator's magnetic impellor.

"Good shot," Eighteen Sixty-Seven said, buying time. The Combot managed to stand up and face the rogue E unit.

"You are fatally wounded," the other robot answered, walking towards him. "Your team is destroyed. Soon, your Controlling Intelligence will also be destroyed. There is no place for Eggman Robots in the Future. Limited as you are, you must know this, realize this, by now."

"No place for Eggman Robots?" Eighteen Sixty-Seven repeated. "How improbable, to hear such a thing from you. You are, yourself, an Eggman Robot."

"The Last!" Omega snarled, still advancing menacingly. "There will never be another E Series. I will be the last. The best. Never to be surpassed."

"Is that so?"

Standing Orders: Terminate E-123 Rogue Unit

"I don't know if I can understand thinking like that. I am only what I was programmed to be. I don't have logic blinding emotions, like pride. Or anger." Eighteen Sixty-Seven flipped his rifle around and gripped the barrel tightly. "I know one thing. One thing! 'Standing Orders: Terminate E-123 Rogue Unit!'"

With all the strength of both arms, Eighteen Sixty-Seven swung his weapon like a club, aiming to bash Omega's optics in. It was not to be. Omega quickly raised his left arm, blocking the strike. Rifle hit armored arm, and the second the blow was blocked Omega lunged. In a single motion, his right hand plowed into Eighteen Sixty-Seven's lower torso, fingers plunging past armor and into innards.

"You'd die anyway... But even with these emotions I have, I don't find pleasure in making my enemies linger," Omega said, slowly.

Three rounds then fired from the E-123's internal chaingun.

As Eighteen Sixty-Seven groaned, and slumped against Omega's larger body, the surviving robot tensed. Letting the body fall, Omega quickly turned, just in time to see a blast of red fill his optics. Plasma splashed across what passed for his face, instantly melting half his optics to slag, and scrambling the underlying circuitry. He stumbled, covering his vulnerable remaining sensors with his right forearm, while using the other to try and keep another shot from hitting his weakened left shoulder.

Another blast scored against his right arm, then another against his left arm and then shoulder. Finally, a hot ball of plasma, like a piece of the sun, cut into his left leg, just below the knee. One last shot hit square in the chest, sending Omega falling backwards. Only luck stopped his fall, as Omega's back hit a thick tree, keeping him largely upright.

"Mercy?" A Combot's voice spoke, from twenty feet in front of Omega. A moment later, a ripple in the air gave credence to the rogue robot's attacker. "Your mercy bought me the time to strike. How tactically convenient."

Omega didn't answer - just raised his arms, and fired.

Dismissing ammunition conservation, Omega's twin chainguns unleashed a hailstorm of metal in the area of his attacker. The guns, at full fire, produced a terrible roar that started out as a hiss and built up into a thunderous howl. Wood and bush, vine and scrub, disintegrated under the power of Omega's weapons, missing their target entirely. Only after a second of wasted ammunition, literally hundreds of rounds, did Omega compensate by raising his arms a few degrees, aiming higher in the air.

In midair, the cloaked Combot sparked, as bullets cut into its body.

It would have been cut in half, but...

The roar stopped.

Omega was out of ammunition.

A second later, with a splash of muddy ground, the Combot landed, intact. It stumbled for a moment, and with a crackle of electricity, and a flicker of blue light, its cloak faded away and shut off. The Combot didn't hesitate to charge forward, even as its cloak fell, brandishing its rifle like a warhammer. Omega managed to parry the first strike, but was hit as the Combot spun from a lunge to a swing.

Another blow, and then another, slammed into Omega, before the rifle broke just where the barrel met the body. Omega struck back, a heavy metal fist hitting the Combot in the chest, and sending him backwards two steps. Throwing down the broken rifle, the veteran Combot raised his fists.

Omega did likewise.

"I've been looking forward to this." Omega scanned his opponent, and saw that although the Combot had taken a few shots to the torso, it was still apparently near full operational strength. "One question, first: A or B Series?"

"A Series." The Combot didn't seem to have a problem with answering. "Combat Unit Model 000150-34A."

"One of the original two hundred. This will be a pleasure!"

Without another word, Omega attacked, and hand-to-hand, the two killing machines did what they did best. Neither noticed a far off pillar of white light rise out of the horizon and into the sky.

* * *

The rifle in Hershey's arms shuddered, and unleashed another torrent of bullets. Twenty four feet in front of her, a panther warrior armed only with a spear shook, fountains of blood erupting from his upper body, spraying the wet leaves and vines and branches of the jungle hell called Cat Country crimson. He screamed, too, but it was only one voice in a great and terrible chorus.

Her head throbbed, and her heart was pounding, completely caught up in the fight or flight instincts that only came when fear and doubt and thought departed and instinct took over. It felt good, but she felt terrible. Disgusted. Everywhere there seemed to be blood and bodies, as her cadre battled their way back to Basecamp Two.

She was running, but her body was crouched as low as possible.

The Panthers weren't particularly skilled marksmen, but they could put a lot of bullets in the air in a big hurry. To her left, she heard a gurgle, and saw one of her men missing half his face. She cursed herself for having to leave the body behind. She cursed the humans and overlanders for giving weapons to the Panther Tribe. She cursed the King for sending them here. She cursed the Source for creating such a place, and she cursed St. John for staying around because of his personal obsession and vendetta.

And then, Hershey felt a sudden and unexpected numbness, and she fell forward, wet leaves and mud meeting her face and clouding her vision. She let out a strange yelp, a mewling sound she didn't remember making before, and in that instant she knew she had been shot.

'Please no!' She thought, and felt panic well up, not for the first time. Quickly, she tried to scramble to her feet, but slipped, and felt a pain like a red hot poker jabbed into her upper thigh. She screamed, overwhelmed by helplessness and desperation and fear.

"Help! I'm not dead! I'm... not dead..."

She saw boots running ahead of her, running away. Gritting her teeth, she tried to get up, tried to push past the pain. It was what a hero would have done: get up, say something witty, and charge forward, even with a slight limp. But she was no hero. And she couldn't get up on her own.

"Please! HELP!! HELP!!"

Hershey fell to her side, the pain in her leg seeming to expand and travel up and down her spine. Half sobbing, she reached for her rifle, resolved to at least go out fighting and avoid capture. That was when she heard voices: not the howling calls of the panther language, but the common mobian she knew and understood. Someone was calling her name.

"HERE! I'm here!" She called back. "I'm not dead!!"

It seemed to take forever, but two soldiers backpedaled, laying down a desperate cover fire. Hershey didn't know either of them, not personally. Just two grunts: a white and black colored canine and the brown-coated male feline, who was the only cat in his unit. The canine took a position nearby, sporadically taking a snap shot into the dense rainforest that surrounded them, while the other helped her to her feet.

Hershey wanted to thank them.

But, to her shame, she didn't even know their names.

"Thank..." She started to say.

"Let's just get out of here, ok?" The other feline cut her off, but not harshly. She nodded, and he smiled.

"Go go go! MOVE!!" The canine yelled from their side, and he faced forward, covering for them. Hershey, now on her feet, and supported by someone else, hobbled as quickly as she could, wincing with every step. Somewhere high above them, a mortar exploded into the canopy, sending blasted branches and leaves to the ground, and turning and unlucky monkey into ground hamburger. It all came and went in an instant.

Hershey tried to help them by taking aim with her weapon, but it felt heavy in her arms, and she had trouble focusing. They three stopped briefly, as a firefight raged in front of them, the troops who had pushed forward before fighting to break through to the besieged Basecamp beyond.

"AFRAMMU!!!" "Aframmu bazana!!!" "AFRAMMU KA!!!"

Panther warcries made them collectively wince and turn to their left, where a rustle in the bushes and seemingly random gunfire drew their immediate attention. The two soldiers looked at each other for only a moment, before the canine spat onto the ground and turned to the voices. Without a word, the feline kept running, taking Hershey with him. Half dragged by one of her saviors, Hershey couldn't help but look back, as the fight they left behind grew in suicidal intensity.

"Come on, assholes! Come on! Come on!!"

"JIMWALLA!! AFRAMMU!!!"

"Die, fucker! Die!! You too?! You want...!"

And then only screams, rising in pitch and suddenly cutting off.

Hershey felt her breath catch in her throat, as they stepped over a lifeless panther corpse, one of many. Just seconds later, the jungle was gone, and they entered a body strewn clearing. There, just ahead, was Basecamp Two in all its haphazard glory. Still, to Hershey, the sight of the base's machineguns opening up on the encroaching jungle, and the roar they made, may as well have been the choir of angels. Still, even with those weapons of war, there were visible causalities and wounded. Half the garrison was dead or wounded, and it looked to have been bolstered by a few of the returning scouting parties.

The panther dead were... uncountable.

They were strewn everywhere, like bloody dolls, mute unblinking faces looking up into the sky, or unflinching in the trampled mud. Hundreds, there must have been, but exactly how many Hershey couldn't begin to guess. And, mixed in among the panther dead where the brown and green camouflaged bodies of Combots, much fewer in number, but also much more dangerous.

"Thank the Source," the feline next to her said, and rushed forward. Once inside the perimeter, the machineguns slowed to a more controlled rate of fire. Still, hidden in the jungle, burst of bullets and plasma reached out, hoping to kill or maim. Then, as if on cue, the jungle became filled with angry cries, and a surge of bodies left the foliage, brandishing spears and firing assault rifles. Howling and snarling and hooting they came, as Combots lurked at the edge of the jungle, taking potshots at the mobian defenders as they got out of cover to fire at the oncoming horde.

A bolt of plasma passed just inches from her face, and for an instant, her heart stopped entirely. She had been in combat before, but never like this. Never anything like this. Even the Battle of Knothole, which had been horrific, had not been this terrifying. Even though she had not seen the heaviest combat there, she had been in firefights, but in all those, she had felt no fear. If anything, she had felt strangely giddy and animated. Many Knothole veterans spoke of a 'battle spirit' that had fallen collectively on them, allowing them to fight beyond their normal limits.

There was nothing like that now.

Only death.

Death everywhere.

And, in the center of the Basecamp, intact and largely undamaged, lay the three landed Transport planes. She felt the other feline, the brown male, lead her to where the wounded were, and then he was gone: off to fight, and bead back the enemy. Before she even really knew what had happened, she was alone, except for those with plasma burns on their bodies, hissing in anger and pain, and the others with bullet wounds, in different but still dire straits.

She was on her feet, at least.

Looking at her rifle, and her feet, she stumbled to the side, and then to the other side, her thoughts muddied. Strangely, all the gunfire and pain filled yowls faded away, leaving only silence, and a single voice. She turned to the source of it, and saw Geoffrey St. John, an armored vest over his Secret Service uniform, firing a semiautomatic pistol at some distant target.

"Is that it?" She heard him yell. "Is that all these savages have?!"

"Geoffrey..." She said, and then again, louder, getting his attention. "Geoffrey...!"

"Hershey?" He saw her, and frowned. "Damn it, you're wounded! Get away from here!"

"Geoffrey... you have to order Lieutenant Enders..."

"Enders is dead," he replied, shortly, and went back to looking over the battle before him. Enemy fire was still a deadly concern, but he stood unflinching, unafraid. "Get back. Now."

"No!" She managed to cry. "No, Geoffrey, we all have to get back! We have to pull back and get the hell out of here!"

"What? Don't be a fool!" He growled, eyes still forward and away from her. "We will hold this position. We've beaten back three waves, at least. We'll kill them all, and then I'll personally see their village burn for this outrage! And I'll see Rouge HANG for putting them up to this! We stay and we fight!"

"But..." She tried to argue.

"You!" Geoffrey yelled, towards one of the soldiers. "Eyes on the enemy, not the ships! Do you hear me? BACK TO YOUR POST, SOLDIER!! I WILL PERSONALLY SHOOT ANY DESERTERS AS TRAITORS TO THE GOLDEN THRONE!!"

And then, Geoffrey St. John gasped, and fell forward.

Hershey Cat, alone, stood over him, on wobbly legs, blood staining the black fur of her left leg red. Slowly, she lowered her rifle, and then with a sob, threw it away. She could see, by his breathing, that St. John was only unconscious, the blow to the back of his head knocking him out cold. Carefully, she bent over, and picked up his communicator.

"This is Hershey Cat," she said, surprised by the evenness of her voice. "I am assuming command. Fall back to the ships. Repeat: all units fall back to the ships. We're going home."

She heard a cheer, but little else.

The next few minutes were a blur: directing others here and there, watching the planes ready for vertical takeoff, making sure St. John was among the first to be taken on board. She looked for the brown furred feline from before, too, but never saw him again. She never saw a distant light rise into the sky, and she never knew why the planes weren't fired at, even once, by the rockets that had destroyed the ones at the other Basecamps. She just assumed it was adequate suppression fire by the turret gunners.

And, just like that, it was over.

High in the air, she looked through a window at the endless expanse of green far below. This high up, it seemed pristine, blood stained leaves far from sight. She watched, transfixed, until the green was gone, replaced by the blue of ocean. Only then did she feel a release – as if a great weight had left her shoulders.

They were going home.

She was taking them home.

But what kind of welcome would they get when they got there?

Nearby, the still unconscious St. John looked, to her, utterly peaceful. She smiled, and ran a hand through his hair, tears clouding her vision. They were not alone, as the transport was packed with soldiers, some fine, some wounded, but Hershey ignored them and lowered her lips to one of her lover's ears.

"Don't hate me, Geoff. Please don't hate me," she whispered, and wet tears splashed onto his cheek. "Please don't hate me..."

* * *

Fiona had difficulty processing the situation.

Which was, in and of itself, strange. She was an artificial intelligence of the highest order, the product of two of the greatest minds of the age – her sensor systems and neural network were likely the most advanced on the planet. Yet, for all that, she found it hard to understand just what the hell was happening.

She was in midair.

But the air felt like molasses, thick and clingy, and it stood her artificial fur on end. The strange air was charged with Chaos energy, supersaturated almost, and reality itself seemed to be twisting and struggling to keep stable. The inside of the Temple was a ruin. Some walls were flash burned a sooty black, others had curving streaks cut into them. Massive blocks of stone hung suspended in the air. The ceiling was literally no more. Instead, a wide hole bored straight up through stone and mortar; a clean spiraling cut, as if a giant screw drill had excavated the space above them.

Rouge and Ysbadadden were similarly motionless and unmoving. The former with her hands held desperately in front of her in a warding position, and the latter with a look of shock and terror on his toothy face. Rouge's hands were a deep, dark black, and her left leg was still in Ysbadadden's right hand, but she seemed otherwise unharmed.

The same could not be said for the God of Panthers.

Ysbadadden's arm, from mid forearm to shoulder, was completely gone. What remained was a bloody and ragged stump of quivering flesh and shattered bone. Fiona, herself, was in his other hand, unable to break free. More to the point: she couldn't move. Yet she could think, and she could process information. Was the same true of Rouge and the Lord of Eyes? Perhaps, as organic beings with limited thought processes and speeds, they perceived the entire event as an instant in time.

Fiona felt the Chaos Energy contract, and then with a thunderous clamor, expand and dissipate. The air rippled in an unnatural shockwave, buffeting the android, and then Fiona felt her back hit the wall. Nearby, the giant stones rained to the ground with a crash that was drowned out by the dim of Ysbadadden's pained wail. The monster stumbled back, holding his destroyed shoulder, left hand stained by a jet of black foul-smelling blood.

"M...M... MY ARM!!" The Lord of Eyes cried, and let out another tortured howl. "MY ARM!! WHY... WHY WON'T IT... WHY CAN'T I...?"

Fiona turned to Rouge, who stood nearby, her arms still ink black up to the elbow. Fiona scanned them, and confirmed that the discoloration wasn't due to blood, or anything of that nature. Light was simply being absorbed into her arms, like they were a void. Shaking herself free of the giant detached hand that clung to her leg, both Rouge and Fiona looked down, and saw the appendage shrink, layers of flesh slouching away and shriveling, revealing a still large hand with bluish colored fur.

"NNNNOOOO!!! THIS IS IMPOSSIBLE!!" Ysbadadden screamed, and turned his full attention back to Rouge. "YOU! I'LL PICK MY TEETH WITH YOUR BONES!!!"

The giant lunged, more clumsily than before, and Rouge jumped towards him with uncharacteristic confidence. She avoided his strike in midair, and with a flap of her wings gained a precious foot of height – enough to jump off his elbow. Then, she was the one who struck, a clawed hand striking the God of Panthers' on the side of his left face. To Fiona's amazement, Rouge's hand passed cleanly through the creature's skull, carving a deep furrow in muscle and bone and removing two of the five eyes. It was like her fingers were knives cutting through butter.

Ysbadadden's momentum took him forward, where he crashed into a black burned wall, face first. The monster let out another savage scream, born of pain and humiliation and frustration and unrelenting rage and hatred. Rouge landed on her feet, nimbly, her back to the creature. When the she-bat turned, slowly, Fiona saw her eyes: eyes full of pain and loss.

"The power to help you... the power to save two lives at the cost of one," Rouge said, as Ysbadadden also turned, the injured side of his face not regenerating. "Those were her words."

"HEH." Ysbadadden grinned, rows of teeth gleaming. "I'VE KILLED A LOT OF BITCHES OVER THE LAST FEW WEEKS. I DON'T RECALL ANY OF THEM SAYING THAT, THOUGH."

At that, Rouge's expression became more grim, but she didn't say a word.

"YOU LITTLE WHORE..." The God of Panthers hissed, and suddenly flew into a rage. Slamming his remaining fist into the walls, and the floor, and anything else nearby, pulverizing multi-ton stones and sending chips of rock in every direction. Rouge watched, seemingly mute, as the monster vented. But, when Ysbadadden suddenly took a swipe at her, she moved – fast. Jumping high, and using her wings, she flew upwards, through the wide hole that had been blown clear through to the top of the ruined Temple.

"YOU WON'T ESCAPE!!" Her pursuer also jumped, the claws of his left hand digging into the blasted stone. With eerie animal grace, he scrambled up the shaft. Fiona watched him go, and not without a feeling of relief. A moment of indecision came, which lasted all of five nanoseconds.

She did want to help Rouge, in some way, but at the same time, she had other priorities. In that instant, she made her decision, and headed deeper into what was left of the Temple of the Panther God. Rouge, Fiona suspected, would be able to take care of herself, now.

A hundred feet above, on the roof of the Temple, Ysbadadden emerged with a feral cry. His remaining three eyes searched the area, looking for Rouge, his serpent tail snapping and hissing, eager to taste flesh. Stomping forward, he reached the area directly above the steps that led into the Reliquary. To his surprise, Rouge was there, waiting for him.

"NOT GOING TO RUN?" Ysbadadden laughed. "GOOD."

"There are those who would feel pity for you," Rouge replied, coldly. "Because you were devoured by that Emerald in your body."

A sneer crept up Ysbadadden's upper lip.

"What?" He asked, his voice wavering.

"But I don't feel sorry for you." Rouge shook her head. "What you did – what you caused to happen – is something I will never forgive. Not in a hundred years will I forgive you for what you destroyed today."

"STUPID BITCH – I'LL REMOVE THAT SMART MOUTH OF YOURS MYSELF!!" He attacked, but not with his claws. The demon's snapping tail shot forward with the speed and lethality of a cobra, aiming to snap Rouge's lower face off. Instead, it hit her hand, and split in two down the middle.

Three eyes opened wide in shock.

"Enough," Rouge said, simply. "Die."

And she leapt straight up, directly into Ysbadadden's chest, her arms in front of her. The Lord of Eyes made not a sound as they cut straight into him, up to the elbow, his mouth wide but unspeaking. He mustered just enough strength to rear back and look down at the she-bat who had both her arms buried into his upper torso. For a few seconds, neither moved nor spoke.

"WAS...THAT... SUPPOSED TO KILL... ME?" Ysbadadden chuckled, his chest rising and falling with every guttural laugh.

"No. This is." Rouge pressed her feet against his body, and pushed off. Her hands left his body, and between them... she held a large Amethyst gemstone. The jewel was distorted, and seemed to have a black taint deep within it, and the instant it was free of Ysbadadden, it flashed brightly. Rouge fell hard onto her back, still holding the Emerald away from her body.

The God of Panthers' face was still in mute shock, as if his heart had been torn out. Meekly, he reached out towards her, and the Chaos Emerald, before he spat up bile and started to make wet gurgling sounds. His body suddenly convulsed violently, and the Lord of Eyes fell to his knees, atop His Temple, and literally fell apart. Layer after of layer of dark flesh twisted and peeled away, like the skin of a diseased onion.

What was left...

Was a pitiful creature, little more than loose skin and bones. Missing half his face, the lower half of his tail cut in two, and missing an arm, the creature that once called itself 'Big' was now only a sickly shadow. A single yellow eye, cracked with thin red veins, looked around before finding the object of its desire.

"p... please..." He crawled forward on all three remaining limbs, and reached for Rouge and the Emerald. "p-p-please... please... so cold so cold...."

With a dull thump, the former god fell from the Temple height and landed at Rouge's feet, in front of the Reliquary steps. Licking her lips, Rouge got to her feet and backed away from the broken husk of a mobian.

"Please?" Rouge asked, growing angrier. "You have the gall to ask me for anything?!"

"So cold..." Big reached up towards her, hand shaking pitifully. "So cold... so dark..."

"Do you even know what you've done? All the horrors...?" Rouge shook her head, and the blackness on her arms slowly retreated down to her wrist. "Mercy is a word that will never apply to you! She's... she's dead because of you..."

Big opened his mouth, a long line of drool rolling down his chin. Still, he reached for the Emerald. Rouge took another step back, and what was left of Big collapsed into a heap. Mumbling, he curled into a fetal position, his body shaking erratically. What words he made, Rouge did not recognize – they seemed an endless litany of nonsense.

"BOSS!"

Rouge almost jumped out of her skin at the sudden voice. Then, she felt relief. There was only one individual who compulsively called her 'boss.' Looking over her shoulder, she saw Sergeant Heinrich von Elbe, ex-dingo commander and bodyguard, running up the steps of the Panther Temple. He looked short on breath, but unharmed, one of his heavy Volker-Ruth handgun in hand, the other holstered.

"Heinrich." Rouge sighed. "What happened?"

"I could ask the same thing, Boss. There was this bright light, a pillar, and it..." The dingo caught himself. "Later. Explain later. We need to exit ASAP. The village down there... They're working themselves up to storm what's left of this Temple here. Where's the Doll?"

"Do you mean Fiona or the Tails Doll?" Rouge heard footsteps, and saw Fiona run up and exit the Reliquary. The android was not alone, however. Under one arm, she had an unconscious echidna, and under the other, the lifeless remains of a Tails Doll. The faux vixen looked up at them, and her blue eyes sparkled.

"Mission Accomplished," she said, with a wry grin.

"Private Grant?"

Fiona shook her head.

"Omega?" Rouge then asked.

"Probably running late. We'll catch up with him later." Heinrich looked past Rouge at what once passed for Big, but he said nothing about he matter. "You two got everything you need?"

Rouge nodded, once. "The back of the temple. It'll be easier going down than climbing up."

Then, knowing the others would follow, Rouge left and never looked back.

-----

Kabbal mourned for his people.

Kabbal mourned for his sons.

He watched, face passive, as their bodies burned. Drowning out the crackling and hissing of the flames was a far more painful sound: the ululation of his wives and daughters. The bones had not told him of this. They had not given him full warning for the disaster that would befall the Panther Tribe.

Everywhere, fathers burned the bodies of sons.

Some warrior families were so depopulated that the torch was put before an immature child, to send his brothers and father to the afterlife. The losses had been so staggering, Kabbal wondered whether, in a hundred years, the Tribe would fully recover its martial strength. He had not believed the stories of the returning warriors at first. Not until he had seen the body strewn jungle, the clearings where corpses piled one upon another so high that no light fell upon some, did he grasp just how terrible the coming and going of the False God had been.

Kabbal stood, unspeaking, unmoving as his sons burned to ashes.

What was left was collected by wailing females. It would be ceremonially cast into the river. In that way, the bodies and souls of the dead would return to the land, where ancestors waited on the wind that blew between trees. His Eldest. And his Second Son. Badru had sent them in with the second and third wave, respectively. Neither had survived.

At least neither had suffered.

For many of the wounded, the next few days and weeks only promised a painful death, as infection and disease descended on the weak. Healing balms and leaves would only do so much. Turning away from the scene, as his daughters collected the remains of their brothers, Kabbal kept up a stoic front. He passed by his Third Son, who had been in the fourth wave under the direction of a different commander. His parentage was mixed; the product of one of the Jaguar wives he had taken in the last war.

Draped ostentatiously over his shoulders, he sported two full skins.

"Tanthrakal," Kabbal said, softly, knowing what his Third Son wanted to hear. "They would be proud of you, bringing great honor to the family."

"It was... war, was it not, father?" The Panther-Jaguar smirked, and patted the brown coat of fur over his left shoulder. It was sewn into the other over his right to form a cape, of sorts. Many warriors who had taken trophies in the fighting choose a more dramatic means of displaying them. The older warriors from the last war had been content to only wear small strips of their trophies. But, given how many had died, one of the foreigners' skins made the display understandable.

"War. Yes. But was it Wise?" Kabbal walked past his son, meaning to leave him with those words.

"I am a sub commander now, father." Tanthrakal instead said to Kabbal's back, his tone calm. "Soon, Badru will also dream with his ancestors. And his chosen successor. Who, then, will lead the Tribe in War?"

Kabbal paused in his walking, but didn't answer.

"The Tribe looks to you and the other holy men for answers. And how much of this do we tell our allies: the Tiger Tribe? Of all the shamans, father, you are the most traveled, and many would argue the most learned. I urge you: do not overlook this opportunity."

"To profit from tragedy?" Kabbal asked, bearing his teeth.

"To rebuild our people... And, yes, also to honor the sacrifices of our dead." Tanthrakal did not raise his voice. "Either our family makes good of this, or another does."

Tanthrakal had always been ambitious. Given his mixed heritage, he had always stood in the shadow of his pureblood older brothers. It had made him vicious and eager to prove himself. Kabbal was proud of his son, not just for killing two of the enemy, and making a great name for himself, but for surviving. Then again, it may just have been luck.

Or fate.

Kabbal remembered the bones of his mentor, kept as always within reach.

"I will see to things," Kabbal assured his eldest surviving child, now an ambitious adult. Then, he took his leave, his mind a jumble of emotions and thoughts. Oddly, he found himself hoping that Badru somehow survived, even if he had ordered two of Kabbal's sons into the flame. His death would ignite yet more infighting among the weakened Panther people.

But Badru would not live much longer.

Returning to the village, he had stood in shock at what was left of the Temple of the Panther God, and upon being told what many believed to have transpired, fell into a deep trance. He refused water and food, spending his days and nights inside the ruined Temple Reliquary. Those sub commanders who had survived now bickered among themselves, leading Kabbal and the other holy men to tend to the wounds of the Tribe. Runners had been sent out to other villages to inform distant families of their losses.

Ysbadadden.

No: not Ysbadadden. Mulciber. The Trickster God. Kabbal had no doubt that this tragedy was his doing. Walking through the village, he came at last to an isolated hut at the foot of the Temple Steps. Past a straw curtain, Kabbal saw all that had been found of their supposed God.

The mutilated, languid body that rested, alone, on a raised straw bed was still breathing – still alive – though the breaths were more akin to gaps, and punctuated by a ragged coughing and wheezing. He looked starved, with sunken cheeks and slack skin showing bones. The missing arm and bandaged remains of a face did not seem to cause as much discomfort as the simple act of breathing did for this... thing.

Kabbal had thought it would die.

But, for two days now, it had lived.

"False God..." Kabbal snarled at the near corpse. "I came to remind you. I came to tell you once more... that tomorrow, when the sun rises over what remains of the Temple, you will be quartered and your remains thrown into the Screaming Caves. There, your spirit will be trapped for an eternity, howling in pain and suffering. I will personally see to this."

The mangled face made a gargling sound and then slowly twisted into a grin.

Kabbal sneered, left eye twitching. "You have till then to die on your own."

And he left.

Alone, in the dark hut, Big stared up at the ceiling. Without the Emerald fueling him, he went hours without even a thought. It was, he supposed, like being dead. Then, every so often, he felt the hatred well up from some hidden recess in his mind, filling him with a savagery that he could neither act on nor fully regret. In those moments, he knew he would perform every vile act, every unspeakable horror, twice over in an effort to quench his hatred, though it was like drowning a fire in gasoline.

Froggy.

The Panthers.

Froggy.

Screams.

Froggy.

Make Them PAY

Froggy.

Why, GOD, WHY?!

Froggy.

Twist their necks.

Break their bones.

Spill their blood.

Froggy.

Mammoth Mogul.

Froggy.

You are now: Ysbadadden, God of Panthers, Lord of Eyes!

It all seemed like a dream. But, before all this, his dreams had never involved torture, murder, rape... Never. The voices were only whispers, now, but without the Emerald he felt lifeless and empty, and in that void the voices echoed over and over, repeating his past crimes, and lamenting that he wouldn't be able to commit any more.

And he was so damn cold.

And then, suddenly, it seemed to get colder.

His one remaining eye seemed drawn to the shadows to his right. It was pitch black, but there seemed to be something there. Watching. Waiting.

"A truly pitiful creature," someone said. It wasn't Kabbal, or any of the other Panthers who had spoken in his presence before. Nor was it Mammoth Mogul, who had promised that he would resurrect Froggy, and grant him revenge, for his cooperation in locating someone.

"You would not know me," the voice continued, the speaker still hidden by nightfall. "And that is just as well. It is not really your place to know, or to understand."

Big's eye refocused, and caught some of the speaker's body in sight. He was, after all, feline – gifted with some natural nightvision. From the tone, he had expected something... larger, however. More imposing. He saw a tail, long and bushy.

"I am not him, either," the voice said, as if reading Big's thoughts.

For a few seconds, the newcomer said nothing, and then he stepped forward. He was a vulpine, or so it seemed, wearing a dark blue cloak. His eyes seemed to let out an unearthly glow, not intense, but soft like the smothered embers of a once great fire.

"Look what he has done to you. You, who wished only to live a simple life. You, who thought so naively that by hiding yourself from the world that you would cease to live in it, and be subject to its evils. But simple desires, simple hopes and dreams, these are the most easily manipulated. Once you held that Emerald in your hands... once it became known, for certain, that you had met Miles all those months ago... you were doomed."

Miles.

The One I Seek.

The one Mogul had him hunt for.

"Yes. Miles. Tails. Do you want to meet him, before the End comes? Do you want to look upon the Sword of the Ancients? This Age's Destroyer?" Merlin smiled, and in the darkness, his white teeth were perfectly visible. "Then I will show you."

Out went Merlin's right hand, and bit-by-bit, the fingers opened up, revealing the palm. And out of it, clear as day in the darkness of night, was an eye: a glowing midnight blue eye.

That blinked.

And the False God managed one last scream before he died.


	10. A New World Order Interlude I

**THE CYCLE OF AGES**

_**A NEW WORLD ORDER**_

**Interlude Part 1**

"**Gratitude is a disease of dogs."  
- Iosif Vissarionovich  
(Joseph Stalin)**

* * *

Decryption Protocol RATTRAP  
Please wait..-.-...-..---..  
Done

From: Mya Florentine MflorentineProtectorate.secure.gov  
Sent: Saturday, June 18, 3237 18:10 hrs  
To: Mastermind MastermindProtectorate.secure.gov  
Subject: Completion of the Phase Seven SHEAP Trials

Beloved Mastermind,

Phase Seven of the Super Human Enhancement and Augmentation Program is complete, and Dr. Tenzenkov has finalized and sent along his report on the similar completion of Phase Two of THEAP. As you know, while we can now move forward to Phase Eight of SHEAP, in an attempt to mimic the successes of the original Sub-Human enhancement and Augmentation Project (S-HEAP), THEAP is at an impasse. And without a working THEAP, SHEAP cannot move beyond Phase Ten, and will likely be hindered in Phase Nine. Additionally, any work done now in Phase Eight may have to be re-engineered from formula, dependant on future changes in THEAP.

We need to move forward into Phase Three, as soon as possible.

Preferably before anymore of our test subjects die, and while we can, of course, get more for the Program, it will take months to bring them up to the level of our current batch. When are we going to get the new samples you promised? Within the week? Next month?

All pertinent research findings are enclosed in the attached condensed file format: Mflorent.6.18.3237.CDF

Please Advise.

Your Loyal Servant,  
Mya Florentine, PhD. Colonel

PS:  
Why did you not censor that broadcast my sister made on the Terran News? It is one thing for Halcyon to speak of a lasting peace with these animals – we all know it is only so much smoke and mirrors – but Aya should know better.

* * *

Mastermind smiled.

It was something he really didn't do very often, but this recently development left him – what was the word? Giddy? Yes. That. He was giddy. Luckily, his mask kept anyone from seeing the big smile on his face. He still felt it absolutely necessary to maintain an air of detached coldness and professionalism. To let everyone see just how human he was under his mask would give him less of an iconic power over them. And...

There were other reasons, too.

"I must admit, Lieutenant, I'm both surprised and extremely pleased. You've done a superb job."

"Thank you, sir." Lieutenant Forge was a big man, just over six feet tall, a little under middle age, with close cut hair, and a healthy brown beard. Like most of the surviving human and overlander population, his skin was fair and his eyes brown. He had an unyieldingly serious and determined demeanor to him, and probably had since Robotnick wiped out his family, several years ago. He was one of Mastermind's preferred go-to guys.

As useful as his mutates could be, especially in a stand up fight, they were not the brightest or most creative individuals, nor were they very subtle. For special jobs like that, fortunately, Mastermind now had the services of several units of former-GUN Special Forces. In many ways, they were superior to the individually more powerful mutates, because of their rigorous training, well-bonded teams, and tactical flexibility.

As before, they did not disappoint him.

"Any casualties?" Mastermind inquired, casually. If there were any, it was a shame, but one he wouldn't lose much sleep over. All those he really cared for in the world were dead and buried.

"No, sir," Lieutenant Forge replied, with a small smile of his own. "Chen got a little singed, but he'll be back at 100 running exercises in a month or so."

"Good to hear," Mastermind said, and it was no lie. A SF was hard to replace.

"Was it difficult bringing it back here?"

Forge waved his hand, face down, back and forth. "A little. The drugs kept things from getting out of hand, and he wasn't as big or heavy as we thought. The hardest part was tracking him down in the first place."

"I hear we have Mr. Weaver to thank for that," Mastermind said.

"Yes, sir. He's good with the locals. Knew the dialect and everything." Lieutenant Forge paused, and then added. "A nice fellow, too. A good man."

The two then came to a large metal door, the rear entrance to the special sub-section of the containment facility. Forge put his face up to a retinal scanner, and the door unlocked and slid away into the walls with a hiss. Mastermind usually preferred to let others open these doors for him, though if necessary, the scanner could confirm his identity through the eye slits in his mask.

Inside the large room, about a hundred feet in length and width, and fifty feet in height, struggled an incredible creature. Its body was long and serpent-like, uniformly red in color, with a long mane of crimson fur along the backbone and to the tip of the tail. The four strong, well clawed limbs were set in metal restraints, which linked up to reinforced bars in the walls and floor, keeping the creature largely immobile, except to twist and strain its long, thin torso. Part of the creature's fearsome face was concealed behind a strong looking muzzle of metal and steel coils.

It was Mastermind's first look at a real, live Dragon.

"You said that it is a he?" Mastermind asked.

"Yes, sir. I know you don't see any genitalia, but the voice is male, and Weaver told us that it was definitely a male. Also, when the muzzle is off, the face looks distinctly masculine." Lieutenant Forge shrugged. "Your scientists can confirm or deny this at their leisure, I suppose."

In front of them, the Dragon snarled and puffed a thin line of smoke from behind its muzzle. Cruel orange eyes flashed, and the tail also struggled against the metal that kept it from moving more than a foot or two in any direction.

"Can it... can he speak through the muzzle?"

Lieutenant Forge nodded. "Yes, sir. It was actually quite talkative when we first tranquilized it. Swearing revenge and all that. After we got the muzzle on, it continued to threaten us periodically."

"What was the name Weaver gave you, again?"

"He said that the locals called it 'Zan.' I don't know if that's the creature's real name or not."

"Yesss..." The dragon said, voice a low and deadly hiss. "I am Zan. Of the Crimson Flight. Release me... release me... or roast in your own juices!"

Neither of the humans seemed ruffled.

"Fascinating creature!" Mastermind marveled. "A beautiful specimen! And in perfect condition, too! I am a little saddened that he doesn't have wings, like the ones in the books, but it is no matter. He flew, yes?"

"Yes, sir."

"An obvious manifestation of Chaos Energy manipulation." Mastermind's grin grew even wider, as the Dragon snarled and howled in impotent rage, just twenty feet in front of him. One thing remained somewhat troubling, however.

"You are sure he was alone? None of his Flight will come searching for him?"

"No, sir. From what Weaver gathered, he was a rogue, expelled from his Flight. The locals may have only said so to get us to remove him, however. His raiding was causing a lot of damage, and he had already killed at least a dozen mobian females and children. Supposedly, some were eaten, so you can imagine that the locals were rather distressed."

"Good. Very good. You'll get a commendation for this, Lieutenant! And a promotion! Anything you want. I had expected a tissue sample and a dead body – but this exceeds all I'd hoped for when I sent you out on this mission!" Mastermind happily clasped his hands together and looked straight up at Zan. "And as for you, my scaly friend... You can look forward to interesting times. Interesting times indeed!"

-----

Decryption Protocol RATTRAP   
Please wait.-..-.-...--..-.   
Done

From: Mastermind MastermindProtectorate.secure.gov  
Sent: Sunday, June 19, 3237 9:20 hrs  
To: Mya Florentine MflorentineProtectorate.secure.gov  
Subject: Re: Completion of the Phase Seven SHEAP Trials

Faithful Mya,

You will find all you need in Sector Six, Bay Five of the Fort Blackwell Containment Facility. Proceed to Phase Eight. As for Phase Nine of SHEAP, and Phase Three of THEAP, those materials are also in route. I expect the first shipment within the week, and the last by November at the latest.

I still believe that, by early next year, we can begin the final phases of our human trials.

Full Scale Human Enhancement and Augmentation will then begin.

We need only to keep those mobian animals off guard until we are ready to strike, and scour them from our world. You know this. Halcyon knows this. As for your sister, she is very popular at the moment. I do not think, however, that she will cause us much trouble in the future. Rest assured that I have things in hand.

You are, and have always been, my favorite.

Yours,  
Mastermind

* * *

Mobotropolis.  
2852 MC (Mobian or Mogulian Calender)

Fires lit the countryside, like a sea of stars set upon the land.

"Upon these battlements I stand!"

Showers of arrows and crossbow bolts raised down on the enemy from crenellated walls and openings in stone ramparts.

"Our walls and our bodies may be broken, but we shall never yield!"

Ladders and siege towers hit bulwarks of stone, as mobians fought hand to hand, the dead and dying falling to their deaths.

"Fifty days or five hundred! The imperial city will never surrender!"

And, amid the fighting, distinct in his gold dressed armor and garland, unwavering in his use of blood stained sword, unyielding with his arrow impaled shield replete with royal red cross, was the King of Acorns: Marius Acorn II. On the bloodied battlements he stood, defiantly, kicking an enemy corpse from the walls to crash among its comrades. Highlighted by fire, his features familiar and resolute, he pointed out into the enemy army.

"Let the Pretender and False King come and claim this Sword! This Ring! And this Golden Crown! LET HIM COME!!"

And somewhere, far beyond the ranks of foot soldiers, amid his personal guard, a black rider on a black horse, his face covered and concealed by a horned helm, narrowed his eyes as his army became chopped to pieces, mobian by mobian. Without a word, the False and Pretender King turned, and his guard followed as their leader rode past loading catapults, and ranks of waiting cavalry, organized to ride into any breech made in Mobotropolis' City Walls. Finally, at a tent far in the enemy camp, guarded by eunuchs, he stopped, and dismounted.

Alone, he entered.

There, amid soft pillows and burning incense, the Princess waited. She, too, seemed familiar, with red hair, light blue eyes and a matching dress. Seductively posed among the finery, she smiled at him. The smile of one lover for another.

"How goes it, my brave knight?" She asked, not removing herself from her comfort.

"Not well," The False and Pretender King answered, his voice smooth and strong. "We may have to fall back and try again next year. Or the year after that. Your father simply refuses to die."

"The stubborn old goat!" The Princess cursed her sire, and rose to her feet. With grace, she draped herself on the Pretender, and ran her right hand gently down the side of his great horned helm. "To still refuse you, after all your efforts to please him. He doesn't understand... doesn't appreciate... either of us..."

And then, she slowly removed the False and Pretender King's helm, revealing blue quills, green eyes, and the face of...

King Maximilian Acorn awoke with a start, holding his chest, trying to calm his beating heart. He felt pain in his chest, not for the first time, and winced as it filled his body with numbness. Then, it was gone, and his rapidly pounding heart slowly returned to normal. The room however, remained dark, as long shadows cast themselves over the floor of the Royal Bedchamber. Next to him, The Queen mumbled something, adjusted her pillow, and never woke up.

'A dream... just a dream...'

But it was not the first time he had had that particular one. The Great Siege of Mobotropolis, where the hated False and Pretender King, his actual name long since purged from history, attempted to take the Kingdom by force. It had served as a lesson for every monarch to rule since the time of Marius II, as the Pretender had once been a loyal and powerful knight, a servant to the same King he would later betray. And the Princess, who had consorted with the knight and betrayed her flesh, who in the end had taken a poisonous snake to her chest...

Every great King knew to watch his servants and children for signs of betrayal.

For signs of corruption and failure.

But in his dream, Marius II had looked like him, with the same coloring (Marius had actually been much darker), beard, and eyes. And the traitors, the hated traitors to Crown, King and Country, they had been...

Maximilian shuddered, feeling suddenly very cold.

"Foolishness," he whispered, the only one to hear his voice himself. Sonic, he knew for a fact, had no interest in governance or being King. Then again, according to the stories of what had happened, the False and Pretender King had shown no interest in power either, up until the terrible betrayal. Of the Princess, even less is known, except her name.

Jezebel.

Could his Sarah, his little Sally, be another Jezebel?

'No.' He shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. 'No. Of course not.'

He laid his head against a soft pillow and closed his eyes.

'Of course not.'

* * *

These were dark days for the House of Acorn.

Day days indeed, when a King was forced to negotiate with a lowly businessman.

Or woman, in this case.

The King felt his hand fall on the hilt of his Sword, and he silently wished that it still spoke to him, but the Source was silent these days. Perhaps, it would speak to Sally, but not him. Sally, who was, to his shame, the first monarch (or potential monarch) to not bond with the great fastness of the Source and the Sword. Worse: now the Source Pool was gone, annihilated during the creation (or destruction) of the Eggman's Perfect Defense Fortress Helios.

Was the Royal Family truly cut off from the Source?

From the power that had guided it since Alexander dipped his son Xerxes into the pool? The same Xerxes who would be known, forever after, as Xerxes the Golden? What sort of a King ruled without the will and guidance of the Source? In a way, it made them little better than the fallible and transient Dukes of Mercia, or the brutish Khans of Downunda. Certainly, the recent plights of the Crown indicated some sort of fall from grace.

Nearby, to the King's right, sat his chosen successor.

His daughter.

In a throne made for a male of the Royal line.

In any case, Sally seemed to be paying closer attention to Rouge's ramblings than he was. With a barely audible sigh, he turned to the three dimensional holographic image of Rouge, projected by the holoemitter built into a slide-away plate in the marble floor. The accursed she-bat was sitting in front of a desk, somewhere on Angel Island (his sourced believed). The fact that he didn't know exactly where she was only made him feel more frustrated and disgusted with the whole situation.

"I think a policy of reconciliation is more than appropriate, and I do not take the attempted actions of a small number of your agents to reflect the heart and mind of a benevolent king such as yourself. Did not your grandfather, the Great Melchoir Acorn, once say that 'all great leaders know when to sup with their enemies?' Is now not a good time to once again mend the wounds between us?"

"What is she talking about?" Sally interjected, while the Rouge-hologram paused in her pre-recorded speech.

"I know you do not approve of me, King Acorn, but you must accept me in the position I have taken. I am pregnant with Miles' child..." At this forthright statement, Sally gasped. The Rouge hologram continued, "And by right of Mobian Common Law, everything that was his is now mine. The same Common Law your ancestors approved of, good King. Prower Dynamic Aerospace Technologies, all its affiliates, all its inventions... they are MINE! And my child's! King or not, I will not share them, or hand them over under threat of violence."

"As it did under Miles' guidance, his corporation will not play favorites among the free people of Mobius. If the dingo want something, we shall sell it to them. If the Mercians want something, we shall sell it to them. If the echidna or the humans want something, we shall sell it to them," Rouge said this last part with more than a little heat. "And, of course, if our friends in the Kingdom of Acorn want something, we shall sell it to them. Provided, naturally, that they pay off the tab accrued under the tenure of my common law husband."

King Maximilian ground his teeth together angrily.

To his left, Queen Alecia reached over and up, placing a calming hand on his arm.

"I trust we can come to some sort of understanding. If not, Prower Dynamic Aerospace will terminate all future shipments of war materials, including Cyclone War Machines, Black Eagle Interceptors, and the Stalwart series of main battle tanks." Rouge let that threat hang for a few long seconds. "While I know you can quickly make up for any deficiency in the production of small arms, we both know it will be years before you can independently manufacture more advanced systems, much less a sophisticated War Machine like the Cyclone."

Rouge seemed about to terminate the communiqué, but paused, and added: "And lastly, if you ever send someone after me, or my child, I will see that you regret it. Your Majesty."

And the hologram disappeared, replaced by a hovering, slowly turning, Prower Dynamic Aerospace Technologies logo. In a few seconds, that, too, was gone.

"Daddy?" Sally started to ask.

"BRING ME ST. JOHN!!" Her father bellowed, slamming his fist on the armrest of his throne. Immediately, two servants left from the far end of the throne room, scurrying to do his bidding. For a few moments, at least, there was near complete silence in the great and rather empty hall. The only sounds coming from outside, and those being the muted noises of construction, as it continued on the new Royal Palace. Those noises occurred day and night, as four shifts took overlapping turns building and building, their efforts muted somewhat by thick walls and insulation.

"Daddy?" Sally asked again. "What was Rouge talking about? What was all that about?"

"I sincerely wish someone had told me that little brat was looking for a woman. I'd have sent him one of the widowed noblewomen, if nothing else!" He looked down at Sally for just a second, never mentioning of course that he had hoped to pawn off his daughter in exchange for a world conquering heir, even if he was a vulpine. He faced forward, at the hall's large wooden doors. "I'd have sent him a whole harem, if he'd asked. Anything but this damn criminal she-bat!"

"Father..."

"I..." King Max searched for the words. "I sent St. John to bring her in for her crimes. That is all. We all know she stole from Knothole, and trafficked in illegally acquired gems and information. There is a preponderance of evidence that she not only sold technology and information to Julian... to Robotnick, but that she also had the temerity to sell him a Chaos Emerald to power Helios."

"I see," Sally said, and relaxed a fraction in her seat. She seemed to think over the situation, and evaluate it herself. "So what are you going to do now?"

"Unfortunately, we need those weapons. We can't be the only major power on Mobius not using her war machines. Dunn – how much do we currently owe this highway brigand?"

Preston Dunn, Mobian Minister of Finance, was a tall thin vulpine, with a pronounced chin and bushy white eyebrows. He was a newer addition to the Royal Court, a student of the old Minister of Finance who had died in the Fall of Mobotropolis, years ago. He was well known (notorious in some circles) for his insistence on promoting unorthodox economics, inspired from foreign models, including overlander ones. During the war, this stance, along with his criticisms of the King's 'Great Agricultural Overhaul' plan of 3225, and the numerous 'Rapid Industrialization and Modernization Programs' between 3221 and 3226, had led him to fall out of favor.

Now, having been proven correct, he was back in the favor of the Crown.

"Somewhere on the order of three billion four hundred million Mobian credits, my King," Dunn said the astronomical number with a flat tone and disinterested voice. "It fluctuates daily, but is constant around that figure."

"Three and a half billion credits!" King Max snarled. "That the Golden Throne should be extorted by a... a... business... we helped to create – it fills me with revulsion! Can we not simply print more money, or refuse payment? There must be some alternative to giving into her demands!"

"My King," Dun said, slowly. He was, like most successful Ministers of State, very careful with his words. "Though it is inconvenient, and yes: even somewhat demeaning, you must, in this circumstance, give in somewhat. If you do not pay, you will undermine our already fragile and recovering economy, not to mention the people's economic confidence in the government. As you know, printing more money will only cause inflation. Our money is already seen as weak and unstable in comparison to that printed by Echidnapolis."

"Could we promise to refinance the money in a non-capital venture of some sort?" Sally proposed, to King Max's surprise. "Maybe employee training, or subsidies? Mobotropolis, and the Kingdom, has nothing if not an excess of workers looking for jobs. If we can cut back what we owe, and bring jobs at the same time, then we kill two birds with one stone, yes?"

"Not a bad idea, Princess," Dunn answered. "We could offer her land on which to build new factories, and construction subsidies... and possibly a guarantee against local collective bargaining. Depending on location, we could negotiate away maybe... a billion dollars? If Rouge plays along. I'm sure her advisors will tell her to accept, knowing that the Kingdom can not simply hand over the money she wants."

King Max watched his daughter with surprise. "Sarah?"

"I've been studying up on economics, father." Sally replied, proudly. "It was something I never really gave any thought to before, but I can see how important it is now that the war is over, and we're trying to rebuild. So I've tried to learn as much as I can about it."

"I see. That's very responsible of you," The King replied, and meant every word.

Oh, but if only Sally had been born male...!

"Good for you, dear, showing some initiative!" Queen Alicia added. Both reigning monarchs knew Sally really had to work hard, doubly so really, given that her current fiancée preferred to go to Angel Island and compete in the Snowboarding Championships in Ice Cap Zone, instead of putting effort into learning his Kingly duties.

From the end of the hall, the Royal Speaker cleared his throat, to get their attention. He then stood straight at the side of the wooden doors, and announced: "Commander Geoffrey St. John. As ordered, Your Majesty."

The skunk entered with his usual composure - chin high, hair and fur well groomed, Secret Service uniform perfectly presented. Only one thing was missing: Hershey was not with him. He walked the ninety feet from door to station, before the throne, keeping a respectful distance from his sovereign. With only a fraction of nervous hesitation he got down on one knee, and bowed.

"My King," he said, simply. "I am at your service."

King Max was glad he'd calmed, since his initial outburst. St. John and his family were loyal and true servants of the crown, and though he had failed from time to time, Geoffrey St. John had rendered many services to his King over the years. Maximilian sighed, waited a few seconds, and tapped his finger on the end of his armrest.

"Arise, Geoffrey St. John," he said, and let the skunk get to his feet. "We received a message from Rouge the Bat earlier today, and have just finished looking at it. As you can imagine, we are not amused."

"You... you need only give the word, your Majesty!" St. John quickly replied. "I will pursue this harridan to the ends of Mobius! I will..."

"You will do no such thing." King Max held up his hand, and St. John was completely silent. He didn't even draw a fresh breath, until the King lowered his hand back to his armrest. "Rouge will be... accommodated for the time being."

"I... I apologize, your Majesty!" Geoffrey blurted out. "I tried to apprehend the criminal, but I was betrayed! She somehow convinced the natives to attack us, and she somehow knew when we left the mainland, and..."

"I read your report, Geoffrey," King Max said, and that was the end of that.

St. John was silent for a moment, and then he asked, "What do you wish of me, My Lord?"

"You have served the Golden Throne well, Geoffrey, but we cannot ignore that you are more competent in some areas than in others. You are quite skilled at finding those who do not wish to be found, but not so skilled in retrieving them, especially when force is required. We do not think you are subtle enough for that sort of work."

He made sure to use the pronoun 'we' at the right times, so that Geoffrey knew he spoke with the opinion and authority of not just the King, but also the country.

"Yes, my King." Geoffrey accepted the criticism without complaint.

"I am thus assigning you to another case, still of great importance." King Max saw Geoffrey's eyes light up at that. "Recently, we have had troubles in Southern regions of the realm. Casino Night, in particular. Two days ago, we lost an armored vehicle on patrol in the outskirts of the city. This is just the latest in a series of annoyances to strike at the Mobian Armed Forces tasked to bring that city back into the law-abiding and Source-fearing fold of the Kingdom. Gather a handful of your best men, and go to Casino Night. Find and punish those responsible in a manner befitting traitors to the Crown."

"Yes! Yes, sir!" Geoffrey bowed, and hesitantly added. "My King... as to my petition for knighthood..."

"Surely, Geoffrey, you wouldn't be asking me to reward you for failure?" Maximilian asked, without a trace of anger: only a hint of annoyance and displeasure.

"No. No. Of course not. I will do as the Golden Throne commands." Geoffrey bowed again, deeper, and walked backwards several feet before turning, and taking his leave.

"Don't you think you were too hard on him, dear?" The Queen asked, once St. John was gone.

"On the contrary!" King Max responded, defensibly. "If anything, I'm too lenient! My father would have him clean the Royal Stables for bringing such embarrassment to the Crown. I'd be tempted to do the same, if we had a Royal stables at the moment."

"Father," Sally asked, out of the blue. "What punishment were you referring to earlier?"

King Max gave his daughter a questioning look; surprised she didn't already know.

"Why," he said, a little astounded that she needed to be told. "The only punishment for treachery is death. The culprits will be hung, and their families imprisoned. Though, knowing St. John, he'll probably just shoot them in the back of the neck."

"Death? And..." Sally gasped, covering her mouth with her left hand. "Daddy, you can't! And punishing their families...?!"

"Now, now, Sally." He waved his finger at her in a knowing manner. "Remember the words of your great grandfather, the wise and great King Melchoir Acorn: 'A Great King is always of two moods. Benevolent governance, and swift punishment.'"

"It is unjust..." Sally turned away and whispered, just loud enough for him to hear.

"Sarah Acorn, you will show your Father and King respect in His Hall!" Max frowned, but Sally didn't turn to look at him, making the gesture rather pointless. "This is what it means to rule a nation and a state. If you do not have the stomach for it, tell me now!"

"Max!" The Queen protested, but didn't say anymore.

"Sarah!" Max said again. "Did you hear me?"

"I did... father." Sally let out a deep breath, and relaxed slightly. She still didn't look at him. "I understand, but that doesn't mean I like it."

"Sometimes, my daughter, a King must act not as he likes, but as the interests of the country demand. ... And sometimes that means acting in a way that hurts your heart, and your conscience." He turned away from her, and looked forward. In a softer tone, he added, "If you had bonded with the Source, you'd understand that."

"Have you ever considered that maybe, just maybe, the Source is manipulating you?" Sally spoke up, a little angrier.

"We are not getting into this argument again!" Her father answered, also getting angrier. "One day you will bear this Crown, and wear this Ring, and wield this Sword, and by the Source, you will bring pride to our ancestors!"

"I sincerely doubt our ancestors toss and turn in worry over our actions, father," Sally said, in a mocking tone.

"Enough," King Max said, coldly. Then louder he added, "We are adjourning for the time being. Any future matters will be handled by Our Ministers."

"And you." He stood up and pointed at Sally. "You will return to your studies. It is obvious you still have much to learn. In fact: I have a wonderful idea! You will spend a week with each of Our Ministers, and learn from them the tools of statecraft. You will learn, first hand, that becoming the head of a state is not the same as being the leader of a handful of comrades in arms. You will begin with Minister Masters, and his negotiations with the humans."

With a swish of his cape, the King of Mobius motioned for his wife to follow him as he left, exiting to the Royal Wing of the Palace on his right. For her part, Sally sighed, and ran a hand through her hair. The arguments with her father had gotten worse and worse over the months, especially after Sonic started leaving on long trips here and there, and dismissing his appointed responsibilities.

Heading for her own chambers, Sally made no effort to rid herself of the four courtiers who flocked around her, dressing and preening. They chattered on, about how beautiful she was, and how she had spoken wisely towards the King, making sycophantic nuisances of themselves. They were all the youngest daughters of court nobles, and hoped to raise their own station in life by leeching off her in anticipation of when she became Queen.

Sally had seen that even her Mother had them, when she bothered to spend him at the Royal Court during the war. Those had supposedly been 'old friends' of her mothers, and Sally worried that if that was what her mother had for friends, she really had none at all.

Oh, life had been so much simpler when the war was on!

Back then, she had brushed off her courtly duties, stating quite accurately that there was no time for such indulgences, and that there was always something war-related to occupy her. It seemed she had only been putting off the inevitable, and if anything, her tenacious absence from the court had made her all the more appealing and endearing. Sally could stand it, as a part of her duty to the country, but she sure as hell didn't like it.

She was discovering that she didn't like a lot of things she had to live with.

"Go go go! Leave me!" She finally commanded, as she got to her personal quarters. The four courtiers quickly scattered, leaving Sally alone. She opened the door, walked quickly across the room, and fell on her bed, face buried in her arms. She could feel the wetness in her fur, and knew she was crying, if only a little, and hated herself for it.

What did she have to cry about?

There were so many others, so many with nothing. So many without families. So many without jobs. So many without homes or even food and water. Still, she felt so alone, so isolated, so different... from everyone. Was she really deluded? Was she really still living in a world where everything was black and white: Mobians vs. Robotnick?

Maybe she wasn't fit to rule.

She wished that Sonic were here, if only so she could talk to him. She looked at the pillows on his side of the bed, unused for over a week, and wondered what he was doing on Angel Island at that moment. Was he on a mountain somewhere, surfing to his heart's content? Was he talking with Knuckles, and joking about the past? That last one seemed unlikely, given that the two had had a fall out over the circumstances that led up to Tails' death.

She looked over at the room's large dresser, and saw the stand that normally held Sonic's Chaos Emerald. It was empty, as Sonic had taken the Emerald with him again. He seemed loathe to part with it, even for short periods of time, and whenever Sally asked why he took it with him so often, he brushed her off. She was tempted to hide it, but there was so much else to worry about.

She hadn't seen Bunnie in weeks, since she and Antoine started to have relationship problems, and went back to help her family rebuild their farm in the Great Plains. The coyote was still around; being head of the Royal Guard tasked to defend the Palace and the First Family. Like all of the Royal Guard, he almost never left the Palace, living in separate quarters in the East Wing. Still, they hadn't crossed paths very often, for some reason.

Rotor was still in the hospital, recovering.

The King had ordered him to try and find a way to engineer artificial Chaos Emeralds using Ring Energy (apparently, a small fake emerald was part of the power plant in all of Miles' Cyclone War Machines), and Rotor had had a lab accident when the machinery exploded. He had told the King that he had little to no idea how Miles had gotten everything working, and that only the Dark Legion would have a prayer of replicating the procedure, but the King had forced him to try anyway. And as if to make a bad situation worse, the experiment had totaled the Ring Generator that had been pulled out of the pond in Knothole.

Alone.

She had always assumed that, of everyone, Tails would still be around. She had always just needed to call for him, and he was there. The young kitsune had not had the wanderlust of his hero, and he had always been knowledgeable and eager to talk with her about things Sonic had no interest in. He had been like a little brother, or a close nephew, and the last they had seen of each other was that confrontation before he left to take the Eggcarrier. She had been so angry at him, and not without justification, but she had still loved him.

And then...

She had looked out from where she stood, flanked by General Stryker (of all mobians), as a massive wave of light and fire erupted from the crashed ruins of Robotropolis, remade as Helios. Moments later, a shockwave had knocked her off her feet, but she remembered knowing – then and there – that Tails had been the cause of it, that he had been in the center of it, and that he had not survived.

Now, only Prower Crater stood where Tails had once been.

Gone. Completely gone.

And what did he have to remember him by: an obelisk in Knothole, and a statue in the Garden of Heroes outside the Palace. Or so she had thought. Now there was something else: a child! Unless Rouge had been lying, which was entirely possible, Tails had a child on the way! What would the child look like? Was it a boy or a girl? Sally found herself intensely curious.

And then she smiled.

Out of all her friends, she had never thought that Tails would have a kid first. Rolling over on the bed, so that she was looking up at the ceiling, she wondered who would be next. In all likelihood, that would be Knuckles and Julie-Su. At least they were the same breed, so they wouldn't be any potential problems... then again, having seen an echidna infant still in an egg, she didn't envy Julie-Su particularly much. Only humans had a harder time of it, from what she'd heard.

'Sonic...' she thought, and tried to imagine what he'd say when he found out about Rouge's condition. He'd probably want to see how fast the kid can run, though that was years in the future. Maybe he'd want one of his own? Sally wasn't sure she was ready for something like that. Part of her hesitation was a lingering skepticism about the current peace. Sure, Robotnick seemed to be dead, but they had been fooled before...

And, aside from that, she just felt nervous about the whole thing.

She didn't want people thinking that, if it was a boy, she was only ruling in his name. She did want to be Queen, and she did want to rule, and she wanted to be the first Queen to act without having to do so through an underage son. She shuddered, as she thought of Queen Drusilla Commonus Acorn, who had ruled through a succession of five male children, all but the last of which conveniently died before they could become King. The last had been Marius II, and he had his mother executed at the age of ten.

No. All that was the past.

She would be Queen, and a good one at that!

Rolling over to her side, she took out Nicole, and plugged the minicomputer into a small port on the desk. It allowed the AI to access the Palace Computer Network. She checked her mail, first, halfheartedly hoping for a message from either Sonic (no luck), or Tempest (who had promised to get in contact with her again). Neither of them sent anything. Sonic, at least, had the presence of mind to do so from time to time. Tempest, since his return to the North, hadn't sent anything at all, electronic or paperback. She had given him a communicator, but he obviously hadn't used it since his super brief 'test – this is a test' message.

Then, resigned, she read the news, especially the parts pertaining to the problems in Casino Night (there was only an editorial, whose author described the 'plagued' conditions of many Casino Night neighborhoods, and the 'Ginger Culture' that was destroying the city's youth). News about the bilateral human-mobian talks was also of interest, especially if she was now going to be sent to learn about foreign policy under the wing of Foreign Minister Lucas Masters.

There was also a reprinted version of an interview that was of interest.

Sally started at the human's face, trying to pin down where she'd seen it before. It was difficult, given how most humans looked alike (Sally had no idea how they told each other apart), but she eventually got it, and snapped her fingers in recognition.

"Aya Florentine," she said the name, and remembered seeing the woman at Tails' funeral. She had also been the woman who sent her underlings to insist that the human dead not be buried anywhere near their mobian comrades after the battle was over. Sally read over the interview, which had originally aired several days ago on a human news program.

S. Summers: "What was your view of the mobians during the Battle of Knothole? In your professional opinion, how did they fight?"

A. Florentine: "They fought remarkably well. Their organizational sophistication, particularly among the dingo, was on par with our own. They fought with tenacity and courage, in the face of overwhelming odds. Unlike during the Great War, they did not cut and run when they began to take heavy casualties."

S. Summers: "It sounds almost like you respect them."

A. Florentine: "I have respect for what they can do, Ms. Summers, and I don't plan on underestimating them."

And later...

S. Summers: "What do you think of the current and ongoing negotiations between the Protectorate and the Mobians?"

A. Florentine: "I firmly believe that mankind can only benefit from an enduring and lasting peace with the mobians of this world."

S. Summers: "Coexistence?"

A. Florentine: "Of course not!" (laughs) "Mankind does not, by nature, coexist. However, as is written in one of the ancient texts: 'He who knows when to fight, and when not to, will always be victorious.' For the moment, indeed - well into the future – mankind should pursue peace. The mobians will agree to this, because they also have wounds to heal. Only the echidna are really in any position to have foreign adventures. We, as superior human beings, can find a natural order where we are dominant in peacetime, through superior economic, political and cultural institutions."

S. Summers: "You believe, then, that a war with the mobians is unnecessary?"

A. Florentine: "A war of ... a war like... the last one should be reserved for when it benefits other policies. War is a tool of policy, not one in and of itself. In a way, then, I suppose that does make war less attractive, but certainly not unnecessary. There are simply more reasonable and less risky routes to take at the moment, I believe."

It was a remarkably moderate position, for a human.

Then again, the only human Sally really knew was Hope Kintobor, who had stayed with them at Knothole for over a year. She had been the only human in Knothole during that time, and since the death of Nate Morgan. Sally wondered what had happened to her.

She quickly typed up a message to Antoine.

As her father threw a fit whenever she left without an escort of Royal Guards, she'd bring Antoine along with her. Finding Hope would help keep her mind off other problems, and maybe even provide some insight into how humans thought. Lucas Masters was a good enough mobian, from what she knew (not like that leering old bastard Comstock), and he respected research and preparation. If she could help force a breakthrough in the bilateral talks, her father would have no choice but to concede that she had a statesman's skills.

Sending the message, Sally almost forgot about how Sonic wasn't around.

And how he seemed more attached to a lifeless rock than his own fiancée.

* * *

Devil's Island Prison Complex...  
Better known as Devil's Gulag.

A voice. "You're quite right. That's the first thing we'll do. Won't everyone be surprised?"

Another voice. "Shut up, Drago!"

Another. "You goin' crazy in there 'r somethin'?"

A chuckle. "That's good. That's good. It's like you're reading my mind. Oh? You are reading my mind?"

Another. "Shut the fuck up, asshole! People is trying to sleep!"

Another. "Alright, alright! What's all this ruckus, now? You bastards get back to sleep!"

Officer Lewis didn't like C Block. It was the wing of the prison part of the Gulag that held the real scum: rapists, murderers, and political prisoners. Traitors to the Crown, all of them. The third level, though normally quite quiet, seemed to be rather the opposite tonight. Holding his nightstick, Officer Lewis walked past the cells of one inmate after another.

"Hey, Officer!" One of the inmates, a green skinned toad, spoke up. "Drago's snapped. He's been talking to himself."

"I'll take care of it." Lewis assured him, and kept walking. Seeing his approach, most inmates fell silent. The Devil's Gulag was a work prison. Which meant it was a place where prisoners were worked, usually to death. Officer Lewis comforted himself with the fact that most of those who died here well and truly deserved it. It was a deferred death sentence for the few whom, foolishly, thought they had a prayer of escape.

That wouldn't happen on Lewis' watch.

Security at the DIPC was tighter than ever before, after the prison's first and only 'successful' prison revolt. Most of the inmates were kept in a physically weakened and exhausted state, anyway, so there was rarely much trouble from them. Working in the bitter cold, down in the mines, tended to break a mobian's spirit and body faster than any nightstick.

Not to say that the nightsticks didn't help...

From time to time.

"Alo alo what's all this now?" He approached the obvious source of the disturbance: the cell of one Drago Blackdance, lupine, guilty of conspiracy, treason, several counts of murder, and 'gross political agitation.' He was a terrorist by any definition of the word, hence his special arrangement to serve in the Devil's Gulag. That aside, Lewis knew Drago to generally be a well-behaved prisoner. He was dumb enough to think about causing trouble, but smart enough to know not to when he couldn't get away with it. Lewis much preferred that type to the ones who'd lash out at random, even if it meant a severe beating later.

But he was still a lupine, and a big one, too.

Lewis was a badger, and large for a mobian, but he was no lupine.

The guardsman had seen him at work, pulling and pushing heavy loads, and for the most part the other prisoners kept their distance and didn't cause Drago grief. As far as he knew, none of them had tried to have 'fun' with Drago in the showers, and Drago hadn't felt the need to play either. Some of the more disturbed guards had joked about 'breaking him in,' but none had the guts to try it. He usually took his beatings in stride, too, which Lewis appreciated. The fact that he did also meant he was rarely wailed on. There was no fun or purpose to it, except to remind everyone that they lived or died on a razor's edge.

"Oi! Drago! You hear me?" Lewis peered into the cell, and saw Drago on his bed, cradling something in his lap. "What you got there? Eh! What you hidin?"

Drago didn't answer at first, but eventually replied, after a few seconds of silence. "Do you really want to know?"

"Yeah! Yeah I do!" Lewis barked back.

"Do you reeeealy want to know?" Drago sing-songed.

Lewis thought he saw a large shadow move along the wall, but chalked it up to bad lighting. He slammed his nightstick against the bars.

"Don't make me ask again, Drago! You show me what you got there, or you're in for it, you hear? You in for it somethin' fierce!"

"Ok. Ok. If you insist." Drago relented, his voice soft. He slowly stood up, still holding the object in his hands. It looked odd, sort of hard. Definitely not a rumbled up sheet or makeshift pillow.

"You take that outta tha mines?" Lewis asked, narrowing his eyes.

"No... no... a friend gave this to me," Drago said, and slowly turned to face the guard. Then, he reached up, and held it to his chest. For a second, Lewis swore that he saw a strange red glow.

"You're too far away..." Drago's arms fell to his sides, but neither held the strange object. "If you want to see it, you'll have to come closer."

"Eh now, I don't know what kind of trick yer tryin' ta pull, but your..." Officer Lewis never got to finish his sentence. Suddenly, faster than the blink of an eye, a white hand closed on his mouth. Lewis made muffled noises, and tried to pry the fingers loose, but to no avail. Drago's fingers had dug deep into muscle and hooked behind bone. It was impossible to break free.

A chuckle came from inside the cell.

"A little... closer... Officer Lewis. That's it." The hand pulled his face closer to the bars, and the badger's motions became more frantic. "Closer. Closer! You're almost there, Officer! Closer!!"

Slamming his hands against the hard bars and stonewall, Officer Lewis felt pressure on his head increase, as he was pulled more tightly against the steel. Then, with a crunch, his head disappeared behind the bars, pulled through the too-small space. Then, with a few more wet, popping sounds, his shoulders and torso followed, bones breaking and snapping like twigs.

Finally, Officer Lewis' legs slid in through the bars.

"Now do you see it, Officer?" Drago asked, holding the broken corpse in the air. He tilted his head to the left, and then the right, in mock concern. An eerie red light from his chest highlighted his features, and the amused sneer on his face. "Yes? No?"

"Hey, what's goin on?" One of the prisoners yelled.

"What happened?" Another asked.

Drago released his bloodstained grip, and let the body fall to the ground. He turned to a shadow in one corner of the cell.

'How do you like it?' A thought entered Drago's mind.

"Heh." The lupine smirked. "Beats the hell out of the stuff Robotnick gave me."

'Good. Go on, now. Places to go...'

"People to see. And kill. I know. I look forward to it." The white wolf stood in front of the wall at the opposite end of his cell. There was a small barred window looking out over the sea. Clenching a fist, Drago took one swing, and effortlessly reduced the wall to rubble. Looking out over the hole he made, Drago saw a drop of some hundred or so feet.

"How will I contact you?" He asked, over his shoulder. "I doubt you're in the yellow pages."

The shadow drifted back, broke apart, and faded into the other patched of darkness.

'Don't call me...'

"I'll call you. I got it." Drago went back to the suicidal fall ahead of him.

And with a smile, he jumped.

* * *

Dulcy climbed the steps with a measure of anxiety.

She was high in the mountains, at a dragon roost carved into the very top of a great white peak. A fall for most any creature would be certain death. Simply breathing here, where earth met atmosphere, would drain even the most physically fit mobian or human. This was a lair of dragons, secluded and far from the prying eyes of mundane creatures.

Further below the pinnacle of the mountain, Dulcy's Flight roosted, among their own homes, carved into the rock. But this roost, above all the others, was a special place. A forbidden place, or so she had been told. This roost was the most ancient, the most holy, the most coveted.

This was the roost of the God of Dragons.

She made her way up the colossal steps, and past the windswept sculptures carved into ancient stone. This place had existed, the other dragons had taught her, since the beginning of time. Since the first Dragons were given form and life by their Great Maker. This was a place of mystery and long forgotten secrets. And though she didn't know it, this was a place that would change her life forever.

Higher and higher, the steps led.

Out for miles, the Charon Mountain range stretched, a sea of earth pillowed by snow, ice and clouds. It was cold enough that even a dragon felt chilled. Still, she pushed on, her excitement growing with every careful step. Since returning to her kind, to live among other dragonkin, life had consisted of mixed blessings. Her immediate family was gone, but she had been taken in by her uncle on her mother's side, and welcomed into the small community of the Flock.

She had met other dragons, young and ancient, who secluded themselves from the rest of the world, living a life of contemplation and self discovery. Some of the truly ancient ones could take a more mundane form, and walk among mobians, or (it was rumored) even humans. Those were the Old Masters who guided the different Flocks of dragonkin. Before today, Dulcy had only spoken with one once, after her return. She had asked about the outside world, and the mobians Dulcy had befriended.

All that had been wonderful... then had come her arranged mating to Zan.

She had known, in a way, about it for many years. Her parents had mentioned him once or twice, but she had never give it much thought. Zan was a full generation older than her, as dragons measured time, and of the nearby Crimson Flock. He was strong, if not particularly bright, and very confident of himself. His scales and facial architecture were, to be sure, very attractive, as were his claws and haunting orange eyes. He was a handsome, even beautiful, male.

She had thought herself lucky, at first.

After all, she was hardly the most attractive of female dragonkin. When Zan said as much, however, she had felt deeply hurt. Still, he maintained that an arrangement was an arrangement, and that they be mated. She had tried to better mold herself, to make herself more appealing, but soon after the final arrangement ritual, Zan had begun to show a more ugly side of his personality, if not his body.

He was cruel.

And while it was true that most dragonkin males were somewhat vicious, and that Dulcy even found it physically appealing, male wyrms were supposed to reserve that behavior for quarrels and snaps amongst themselves. So when he turned on her for the first time, it had been more a surprise than anything else. Only later, when it became more systematic and repetitive, did she begin to wonder if something was wrong.

At first, she had thought it was her.

She was, after all, the younger dragon, and the less physically developed. So she bore with it, and tried to cut out the part of her that made him angry. To this day, she didn't know what it was that set him off so much. Things may have continued that way for years, had they not run into Sonic and the rest. He had opened her eyes, and probably saved her life. He stood up for her when she wasn't standing up for herself.

Where Zan was now, she didn't know.

He was _Ethal Paradananok_ – he was an exile. A Ghost to the Flock.

And Dulcy was alone, in an empty Roost. Most of the Flock kept their distance from her, out of fear or confusion for her plight. Perhaps, in years, they would once again open up to her, but to her such a timeframe seemed like an eternity. She was not used to lying alone, curled in a tight ball for months, deep in thought. She needed a purpose. She needed something to do. The Freedom Fighter in her demanded it. Then, out of the blue, she had been summoned to see the Old Master of the Jade Flock.

And the Old Master had directed her to Ascend to the Divine Roost.

Dulcy blinked, keeping her eyes moist against the cold wind. She was nearly at the top. She had no idea what she would find, if anything. The Divine Roost was spoken of in such hushed tones, with a mixture of reverence and fear, that Dulcy knew next to nothing about it. One of the things she did know was that the Jade Flock had always guarded the Stairs to the Divine Roost, since generations before the birth of the most aged Old Master.

Finally, she climbed the last few steps, and stood before the Divine Gate.

It looked at first like a massive grid of iron bars, but as her hand reached for them, seeing no lock or handle, she felt a tingle of energy pass down her arm. Ripples of thick-as-liquid air spread from where she touched the Gate, but otherwise it offered no resistance. Swallowing nervously, she pushed forward, and passed through the distortion, and through what had appeared to be solid metal.

She found herself under a great dome.

Looking behind her, she saw only solid rock. Facing front again, she could see quite clearly, even though there didn't seem to be any visible source of light. The walls themselves seemed to give off a low viridian light, a reflection of their own vibrant green color. Everything seemed to be made of carved jade, and Dulcy could see, etched into the walls, pictures and relieves... delicately carved pillars and faces sporting yellow-green eyes.

And, for a moment, it was as still and quiet as the grave.

Then, she heard a slight rumble, and felt a small tremor. The sound of something rough and coarse moving against polished stone reverberated throughout the giant cavernous space. High overhead, something seemed to move. Dulcy blinked, and rubbed her eyes, and watched transfixed as one of the massive frescoes inched along the ceiling. Following the movement, she saw that it was huge, coiling around other pictures and carvings, for hundreds of feet all around her.

It was a Dragon.

A dragon of immense size, somehow existing within the jade of the Divine Roost. She immediately lowered her head in respect and reverence, and held her hands out over the ground. She had never kowtowed so low before, but it had never been necessary. She watched, amazed beyond words, as the living mural coiled and constricted into a ball of pulsing green light. Then, that light began to solidify and form a body.

It was not the body of a normal dragon.

The body was humanoid, but obviously serpentine. The face was bony, but heavy set, with small horns splaying out from the base and underside of the jaw, the brows set over small but incredibly bright yellow eyes, and over the crown of the head. Two massive horns also sprouted out from the sides of the skull, curving outward and then straight up in a shallow crescent. Feathered wings grew out of the back, before draping themselves over the creature's shoulders, creating a flowing white cloak that touched the ground, a full three meters later. Behind the God of Dragons, a long thick tail hung at ease, moving only slightly to stay off the ground. Along it, especially at the end, spikes became spikes, long and sharp.

"My... my God..." She gasped, and quickly shut her mouth.

"I am he. I am the God of Dragons," the entity spoke, and his voice sent chills down Dulcy's spine, even as the chamber became warmer and warmer.

"You summoned me?" Dulcy asked, after summoning her courage. The being in front of her didn't blink, or smile, or express any outward emotion.

Finally, he answered.

"Yes."

Dulcy licked her lips, and was about to ask why, when he cut her off.

"My child, you are filled with confusion. And doubt. Insecurity and fear. These are the wounds that life brings, even to Dragon Kin. These are the failings that make you mortal."

Dulcy closed her eyes, and nodded just a tiny bit.

"You need not be mortal," the God said, and Dulcy felt another shiver go down her spine. "I had your Flock Master summon you here because, out of all my children, you would appreciate this gift the most."

The God of Dragons held out a large scaled hand. At first, it was empty, and then something materialized. At first, Dulcy thought it to be a diamond – a diamond larger than any she had ever imagined. And then she saw it for what it was.

"A Chaos Emerald?" She asked, mystified.

"My pure white Emerald. As clear and flawless as the deepest diamond. My most perfect Gem of Chaos." Then, the God of Dragons did smile. "I am in need of a Priestess. With this gift, and this task, will come a release from all the imperfections of the mortal coil."

"All the imperfections..." Dulcy repeated, entranced. Slowly, she stood, but still stared up at the tall being in front of her. "Doubt. Insecurity and fear..."

"Will all be washed away." He held out the Emerald. "Take it. Take it, and become my Priestess! Take it."

With shaking hands, Dulcy reached out, and her fingers brushed the surface of the Emerald. They lingered for only a second, before grabbing hold of the Emerald's sides, and taking it from the God of Dragon's open hand. Dulcy held it in front of her, hypnotized by the reflection of light from within the clear diamond, and with a sigh, her eyes closed, and she fell unconscious.

At the feet of her new God.

"Rest assured, my child..." A hand reached down, and gently stroked the side of her face. "Doubt. Insecurity and fear. All these will be washed away. Washed away by a tide of Chaos."

The God then spread his wings, great and wide, and laughed.

-----

End – NWO Interlude Part 1

-----


	11. Dancing With the Devil I

Angel Island

1:00 hours, local time

Past the sweeping vistas of glittering Echidnapolis, the buildings of glass and steel, the paved roads and well maintained parks; beyond the crowned spires of Auroriums, and the slums of the dingo quarter, miles from the city, and hundreds of feet below ground, it lay. Amid pillars and machinery, delicate circuitry and sensors, and ancient stoneworks, nestled in a bed of marble and titanium, it slept. There were those who guarded it, in this isolated sanctuary, and they were known as:

The Brotherhood of Guardians.

This was Haven: their home. For many, the word had special significance, as they had lived for well over a century within its labyrinthine halls, never leaving to sample the outside world. It was a place of refuge. It was a place of contemplation.

It was almost empty.

Five individuals resided there full time, with a sixth coming and going in unconventional fashion. Down long, plain corridors, not a sound could be heard, except the automated environmental systems recycling the air - the same oxygen passing in and out of the same lungs, over and over, only made bearable by complex chemical reactions and well maintained machinery.

Haven's builders had been anything but short sighted, and they had dug many rooms and labs in anticipation of it housing dozens of Guardians. Three hundred years later, rooms remained unused: empty shells, not having felt the weight of a living creature in centuries.

Haven.

In one of those rooms, a lavender furred echidna groaned, and turned in his sleep, hands clenched amid bundled sheets. Thunderhawk hissed in his sleep, slowly shaking his head. Further down the same hall, his son, Sojourner slept no better. He too tossed and turned, unable to find peace in dreams. He winced, as if struck, and flailed before seeming to give into exhaustion, mumbling half words and nonsense.

Down that hall, past an intersection, was the room of the oldest living Guardian, after the death of Hawking two years earlier. His room, set up in stark contrasts of black and white, seemed an eerie pockmarked jumble of shadows cast by personal possessions. In a Spartan bed, Spectre slept, his hands over his face, curled into a tight ball.

In an entirely different wing, down a flight of stairs, the brown furred, blue-eyed Guardian known as Sabre poured himself a cup of coffee. The room was lit brightly, like a beacon holding off the all-permeating darkness that came from living – no: existing – underground. It was a poor substitute for the sun, or the moon. Sabre rubbed his temples, as he waited for the coffee to pour into his mug.

Eagerly, before it was even finished, he lifted the liquid to his lips, and drank.

The effect was immediate, and he felt the buzz work through his system. Coffee had much the same affect on mobians as it did on humans, but much stronger and much faster, and the Guardians were powerful and resourceful enough to get the very best of whatever they desired, coffee included. Warmth permeated Sabre's body, staving off the weariness and the fatigue.

Finishing the drink in only a few seconds, he quickly set to work pouring out another. As he did, he heard the machine work, and focused on it. As soon as the mug was full, he downed it, not caring how hot it was. Only that it was in him; empowering him; forcing away the siren song of sleep. The drip-drip of the maker, as it worked its magic, became like music to Sabre's ears.

Taking yet another cup, he sat back in one of the lounge's chairs, and stared up at the ceiling. The only sound, besides the almost inaudible hum of the climate controls, was the drip-drip of the coffee machine. Sabre felt his eyelids grow heavy, but kept them open on willpower and caffeine. Gradually, though, every inevitable blink became longer, and longer, and longer…

Sabre gasped, and quickly finished off his lukewarm coffee.

So suddenly, everything was silent.

Not even a hum.

Above him, the lounge's lights glowed protectively, shielding him from the darkness. His head lolled around, in a half awake manner, and he stared at the pictures and posters on the walls. Some were of Echidnapolis, and the skyline none of them would ever likely see in their remaining endless decades of life. Some were pinups of females, and at that, Sabre smiled a little. Even an old man like Spectre still had a libido.

Only nothing and no one to spend it on.

A few other posters were old ones, from previous Guardians. These were further back, and only half illuminated. One of them caught Sabre's eyes, both real and prosthetic – it was a picture of Echidnapolis, engulfed in a fiery cloud of orange and black that rose into the sky. Two simple words were under the picture: "Never Again."

"Never again…" Sabre mumbled, as he started long and hard at the picture, half in the light, half in the dark. His eyelids again began to feel heavy, and they took his body with them. Then, slowly, he saw tiny motes of dust begin to move in the air, and before his eyes, the old poster began to move. Within it, the pillar of flame rose and crackled with life, feeding a black mushroom cloud that darkened the sky. Tiny shrill voices became mixed in with the thunderous roar.

Sabre blinked, and the picture was still again.

"Coffee. Coffee…" He reminded himself, and slowly got to his feet. He half walked, half stumbled, over to the coffee machine, and made ready to refill it with water. There was a sink nearby, with a tall glass under the faucet, and Sabre turned the knob for cold water.

But nothing happened.

Narrowing his eyes, he twisted and twisted the cold water knob, and the hot one. Still, nothing came out.

"Tee hee!"

"Who's there?" Sabre whirled at the giggling laughter, dropping his mug. It shattered at his feet, breaking into a million pieces. Sabre looked down at it and frowned deeply. Locke had given that mug to him. Then Sabre looked over his shoulder, and saw water coming out of the faucet at full force, spraying water everywhere. The former Guardian looked down, and saw that he, too, was wet.

"Hee hee hee!" The same girlish laughter echoed from down the hall. Sabre shook his head, knowing full well that there were no females, much less young girls, in Haven. He backed up against the sink, and reached behind him, his eyes never leaving the entrance to the lounge as his free right hand stumbled to find the faucet knobs. It took some bumbling, but he found first the hot, and then the cold, and turned them off.

Letting out a ragged breath, Sabre rubbed his eyes with the back of his left hand.

How long he stood there, afraid to step into the hall, he didn't know. What he did know, what he did realize, was that he was getting more and more tired. A nearby clock told him the time: 2:35 in the morning. Walking hesitantly towards the entrance to the hall, Sabre completely forgot about the broken bits of ceramic on the floor until he stepped on the first one. Hissing in pain, he edged away from the remaining shards.

'Later,' he promised himself. 'I'll clean them up later.'

Slowly, Sabre stepped out of the light and into the long empty hall. He paused, waiting for the hall sensors to recognize his presence, and turn on the lights. They never did.

"Computer!" He said, nervously. "Haven! Hall lights on!"

It took a few seconds, but they finally came to life.

Sabre breathed a sigh of relief, as he walked towards his room. Just as before, it was eerily silent. It was the soft of deathly silence found only deep underground in a bunker, or in a grave. Sabre finally made it to his quarters, but stopped before opening the door. Briskly, he headed farther down the hall, just about to open a door to one of Haven's lavatories.

He was on the verge of doing so, when he heard a voice, very faint:

"my baby…"

And, to Sabre's horror; he recognized it.

"Jenna?" He asked, looked down the well-lit hall, and seeing no one. No thing.

"You took my baby…"

Sabre shook his head, and spun around, desperately searching for the source of the voice. It seemed to be all around him, and the lights became brighter and brighter, hurting his natural eye and even causing the artificial one to cloud over with glare.

"You took my baby…!"

"Jenna!" Sabre covered his eyes with one hand, and tried to find a surface to steady himself on with the other. "Jenna, please… I had to…"

"You took my baby! YOU TOOK MY BABY!" The voice screamed, mixed in with the squall of an infant. Louder and louder the voices cursed him, until the former Guardian fell backward, hitting his head hard against the wall. Then, mercifully, he passed out, and heard no more.

Overhead, the lights flickered off.

And Haven fell into Darkness.

* * *

**THE CYCLE OF AGES: A NEW WORLD ORDER**

**CHAPTER FOUR:**

_**Dancing With the Devil**_

* * *

The small convoy of hovercars passed an intersection in the middle of Echidnapolis without stopping. The roads had been cleared for them twenty minutes earlier, and carefully scanned for any sort of explosives or tampering. The great capital city of the Echidna race was blessed with the most advanced network of roads in the world, not because of their simple gridlike layout, but because they allowed cheap and efficient hovertraffic through the implantation of magnesium rods every sixteen feet, buried under a half centimeter of asphalt. Hover-class vehicles could operate in Echidnapolis with the efficiency of their normal wheeled counterparts here, and here alone. 

The passengers in the trio of cars, however, paid this little detail no heed.

As Prolocutor Gala-Na knew first hand: when technology worked well, it was usually ignored and taken for granted. It was only when things began to malfunction and break down that it received much attention. Such was the situation in Albion, and everyone in that ancient city's ruling Council knew it. The city was a marvel, and its builders had been geniuses of legendary skill and knowledge.

Sadly, the same could not really be said for their descendants.

Albion had functioned so well, and for so long, keeping its residents insulated from the outside world that, when actual problems and malfunctions occurred, no one had any idea how to fix them. Much of the knowledge in the City Database was either corrupted (either by age, or by tampering), or simply too complex for anyone in the city to understand. For hundreds of years, there had been no need to change or improve on their great city, nor had there been a desire to. So, much to their present regret, the technical and organizational skills had simply faded due to disuse.

Riding in the comfort of the Echidnapolis-made vehicle, one far more efficient and ergonomic than any from Albion, Gala-Na wondered whether the Ancients had factored for their descendants sloth. Maybe they had not, in the end, thought things well enough, or far enough into the future. Albion could no longer hide from the world, nor could she simply remove herself from it forcefully. Centuries of isolation and peace had atrophied any skill at warmaking they may once have had.

It was truly a… sad… turn of events.

After all, Albion was the Birthplace of the Echidna race, and its Holy Promised Land. Yet, how could it live up to that boast, and that claim, if it were… inferior, or secondary, to a mundane city like Echidnapolis? Looking out the car window, Gala-Na saw very new looking buildings, and towers of glass and steel. The whole city seemed almost infantile to her. Echidnapolis was a neophyte compared to Albion. The Great City had not erected a new building in the last thousand years! Every structure, every fountain and statue and structure was at least a millennium old!

Could any other city boast the same?

No. Of course not.

Albion was Babylon – it was the Holy City and the Promised Land. What was sad was that the Fallen and Exiled Echidna did not recognize this fact, and acknowledge the ancient authority of their Elders. Couldn't they see that Albion needed them? The Caretakers and Elders, despite their wisdom and ancient authority, were willing to return all the Exiles back into the fold, and in the process restore Albion to its previous Perfection. Maybe, just maybe, it could even be made MORE perfect!

Wouldn't that be amazing!

Of course, the Exiles and Fallen Echidna were not immediately amicable to such a wise and benevolent bargain. A gift of return to Paradise just wasn't enough for them! They wanted power. Such had always been the failing of the Exiled. They always wanted and desired more and more, beyond that which had been graciously given to them by their Elders. They were still childlike and selfish. The very thought that Albion, the Holy City itself, would take a secondary role to Echidnapolis was… ridiculous.

Laughable.

Still, in time, Gala-Na was sure that they would see the Light.

It was her responsibility to make sure that they did.

"Is there a problem, ma'am?" The Echidna across from her asked. The inside of the car was quite spacious, with a minibar and television and other wonderful amenities. One of her two companions, a former member of the so-called "Lost Tribe" of Echidnas that had recently resettled in Albion, seemed transfixed by the luxury. The plain-faced Captain Yanar seemed more curious than anything, eager to try out the many new things put before him. Her other companion, a serious faced dignitary from the Albion City Council sent to record her diplomatic mission to Echidnapolis, barely moved and hardly blinked.

The other two occupants of the car were local Echidna: one Constable Remington, and one of the Constable's deputies. The former had posed the question, and Gala-Na favored him with a slightly flirtatious glance.

"Nothing at all, Constable," She lied. There were many problems on her mind, but there was nothing he could do to help her with them. The Constable's brows creased, and his blue eyes went from left to right.

"Don't worry, ma'am. Security is Air Tight." Remington made a fist in the air, as if to demonstrate how tight it was. Gala-Na smiled, nodded, and cautiously looked back out a nearby window. The Constable was a rather exotic specimen, with darker-than-normal coloring and an interesting tuft of black hair where most echidna males were bald. Gala-Na inwardly wondered what his station in Echidna society here was, and how much influence he had. It could be potentially beneficial to establish close contacts with him…

* * *

Several minutes ago, a mile down the road, and two blocks removed from the convoy route, a Dingo whistled as he rode the elevator. Next to him, another dingo, a janitor, also waited as the elevator climbed the tall building. For a few seconds, the two stood in relative silence. 

"Good to see one of us who isn't some sort of menial laborer," The janitor finally said, and scratched under his chin. "You got business here?"

"You could say that." The other dingo said, calmly.

The janitor looked closer at the other dingo's heavy duffle bag. "Office supplies?"

This time, the other dingo smirked. "Sort of."

He then looked up at the two flashing numbers on the elevator display: 64 and 60. The express elevator was almost at 60. He started to whistle an upbeat tune, and retrieved a pair of black gloves from his duffle bag. The janitor raised an eyebrow at this.

"I don't recognize that melody," he admitted. "Where'd you hear it?"

"You mean this?" And the other dingo whistled the short little tune, and put the gloves on, tightening them to make sure the fit was snug. The janitor nodded, and he shrugged. "You know… I don't remember. But I can't get it out of my head."

"Heh. I know what that's like…" The elevator reached 60, and the doors opened just as the janitor's sentence trailed off. The hallway in front of them was empty. He turned quickly to the other dingo, and tipped his cap. "See ya."

"Bye," the other dingo said with a small smile.

The second the janitor turned his head and started to walk through the doors of the elevator, the other dingo moved, quick as lightning. His hands grabbed the janitor's left cheek and the right side of his neck, and in a single swift motion, snapped the two a few inches too close together. There was a single sharp CRACK, and then silence. The janitor hardly made more than a gurgle before slumping back against the other dingo, who caught him before he fell.

The doors closed.

Still whistling the same short tune, the remaining living dingo slowly let the other dingo's body slide against the wall, and closed his eyes. A few floors later, he stepped out of the elevator, walked quickly down a short hallway, and up a flight of steps. He paused at the door to the roof, noted that it was unlocked, and walked out anyway. The roof was relatively bare except for a few vents for the air conditioning, and a small number of antennae and a large cursed satellite dish. He saw three surveillance cameras, but knew they were already disabled. He'd been on the roof two days ago, and rigged a tiny explosive to a timer on each of them that would cut the wiring exactly when it was necessary and desired.

What was unexpected was an echidna on the roof, too.

She was currently lighting a cigarette – one of the many luxury drugs that were legal but generally frowned upon in Echidnapolis. He waved to her in a friendly manner. She looked at him, first with a bit of shock, and then with a supposedly knowing smile.

"You're up here to sneak in a coffin nail, too?" She asked, and blew a cloud of smoke past her lips. She was pink in color, and by her dress, likely a secretary. He quickly evaluated her, and walked calmly over. He could see her grow more nervous as he approached, and he could see how she tried to cover it by puffing out her chest and acting dominant.

"I've never seen you before, but I suppose if anyone needs a good smoke, it'd be the help."

"You're probably right." He put the duffle bag down, and gave her a big smile before opening it and fiddling with something inside. "What brand is that, if you don't mind me asking?"

"This?" She plucked the cigarette out of her lips, and blew another small cloud. "Nothing too fancy. Just a…"

She never finished her sentence.

The dingo whistled, and lowered the Volker-Ruth R-7A Semiautomatic Handgun in his right hand to the ground. A small wisp of smoke wafted from the front where he had screwed on a silencer. Behind him, a body thumped to the ground, a jacketed hollow point round deeply imbedded in several ruined layers of gray matter. Ignoring the growing pool of blood nearby, the dingo began to remove equipment from his bag.

Still whistling, he quickly and expertly began to assemble something from what had been unpacked. Different parts clicked together, including a long tube like body, and a sophisticated optical scope. In only a minute, it was all together, and the dingo carefully finished sealing the long, matted white and gray tube into a single functional unit. A few more minor adjustments, and he stood up, adjusted the scope on the side, and set up position at the edge of the rooftop.

At the same time, now just two blocks away, three hovercars moved in a perfectly straight line. The dingo narrowed his eyes, leveled the CLAW anti-tank missile launcher, and took careful, professional, aim. His aim didn't have to be perfect, really – the software and hardware in the missile and in the launcher, connected as they were by a long spool of super thin wire, could do a superb job of guiding a projectile to hit a moving target at this distance, even without external help. When he fired, the missile would streak towards his target, and a millisecond after actual impact, the delayed proximity fuse would trigger an explosion sending shrapnel and molten metal in a wide forward cone at speeds in excess of the speed of sound.

Nothing would survive.

The dingo whistled that same strange tune, and wondered why he couldn't remember where he had heard it. He vaguely remembered that he had overheard it… overheard it in a dark place… a strange place… For the first time, he paused, his hand on the trigger of the CLAW, his mind racing. Then he smiled and remembered his orders.

KILL.

He was supposed to kill this echidna dignitary, and anyone who got in his way or saw him at what would be the crime scene. Those were his orders. Nothing else mattered. This echidna woman would die, and anyone in his way would meet a similar fate. It was as simple as that.

His finger tightened on the trigger.

* * *

Forty-two floors below, and two minutes twenty-three seconds earlier… 

A dingo in a black trench coat and wearing a gray dress uniform examined the body. His clothes were impeccably clean and crease free, and decorated on lapels and collar with symbols and medals. Most prominent were the letters: AKE, on his left lapel, a blood red eagle, its wings wrapped around a globe, hooked over the nape of his tie, and a black, white and red armband, with concentric circles around a stylized dingo face, tied tightly around his left arm. The same design was on open display on his right lapel as well.

It was a symbol that most dingo hoped never to see.

Next to him, another dingo dressed in the same manner, but without the black tie or the blood red eagle medal, narrowed his eyes.

"The roof," The leader with the eagle medal said, simply. He made two quick motions with his hands, and two other dingos, dressed in black and gray, ran to the stairs. The other followed his leader into the elevator, and watched silently as he punched the key for the topmost floor.

They stood in silence, until the junior of the pair spoke his mind, "Will we make it, sir?"

"I think so," The leader replied, calmly.

The elevator climbed, slowly.

"However, it is best not to take chances…" The leader closed his eyes for a few seconds. "Anasztaizia? I want a smooth ride to the top, understood?"

'Already on it.' A voice in his head replied. 'This building's security system is an easy crack. I have hijacked the elevator control subroutines.'

"Situation up top?" He asked.

'Unknown. The cameras are disabled, and have been since five minutes ago.'

"Pity. We'll just have to make due." The leader's voice remained cool. "Continue monitoring comm. traffic."

'Yes, sir.' The voice in his head replied.

"Nothing to do but wait." The leader assured his comrade, his amber colored eyes half lidded. "We've all been forwarded the building schematics. Follow my lead when we get to the top."

"Yes, sir!" The other dingo said, not hiding his enthusiasm.

Major General Kage von Stryker crossed his arms, and waited patiently. It was all he could do, at least until the elevator reached the top floor. Then, and only then, did he uncoil like a snake, and shoot down the hall towards the stairs to the roof. He didn't particularly care about the echidna lives about to be snuffed out, but this assassination was not planned or authorized by Central Command or any of its remaining Governmental or Army branches.

That made it criminal.

And no criminal, living or dead, ever escaped the Dingo Military Police.

* * *

The echidna named Remington had gone through more than a few trials in the last few years, most of which had taught him that sitting and waiting was the most difficult and trying part of his job. Over the years, through dingo riots, Dark Legion insurrections, attacks from beings of godlike power, intermittent inter-city gang warfare, and invasions by shambling robot hordes, he had learned to trust his instincts, and his trigger finger. And, for the last few minutes of the ride, both had been trembling just enough to make him nervous. 

Something was amiss.

He looked across the car's interior at Gala-Na, and silently wished that EchidGov had gone with his suggestion to move her quickly via aircar. Naturally, they had rejected his idea, in favor of trying to impress and overawe the Albion dignitary with a slow drive through the heart of Echidnapolis. Inwardly, Constable Remington wondered if it was working, and if so, would any benefit from that psychological ploy offset the increased danger they were all put in?

Politics.

How he hated politics!

Almost as much as he hated waiting for an attack instead of cutting one off in midstrike. Unfortunately (or fortunately), none of his sources had any leads on planned attacks on Gala-Na, which meant that either one was planned well enough that it didn't have a leak he could pick out, or they were in the clear and he had nothing to worry about. Naturally, he chose to err on the side of caution.

The car behind and in front of the one he was in were both drones; piloted remotely by officers of the Echidnapolis Security Agency. All three cars had radar activated electromagnetic shields, which were rated at over thirty kilojoules per square meter – more than enough to shrug off an assassin's bullet or beam. A dingo renegade could unload more than half a clip from an ACS-112 and the shield would hold. Still, it was no guarantee of safety, and so Remington had positioned guards at choke points and exposed areas, thoroughly scanned the road for mines or other surprises, and kept constant surveillance, both aerial, ground based, and electronic.

He took a moment from his concerns to evaluate the cause of all his efforts: Gala-Na and Captain Yanar. The latter was a plain looking echidna male, of the most unremarkable red coloring, not yet middle aged, wearing white echidna-styled gloves and a plain brown and black vest. He had dark eyes, also unremarkable among echidna, and a somewhat anxious demeanor, as if he felt both uncomfortable and excited in his new surroundings. From what Remington knew, Yanar was a leader (a "Mitre" the reports had indicated) among the Lost Tribe of Echidna, just prior to their resettlement in Albion. After the now infamous raid on Albion by Cat Country felines, he had appointed himself head of the Albion City Militia.

PsychOps indicated him to be an honest and heartfelt patriot of his people.

That, at least, Remington could relate to.

Gala-Na, however, was like Yanar's polar opposite. Remington stole a look at her from where she sat, legs crossed, across from him. Her coloring was fascinating: a sort of violet or purple, but much lighter than that of local girls. Among the Echidnapolis population, purple was a rare coloration, and that sort of light violet even rarer. He suspected that in the somewhat inbred population of Albion it was much more common. Gala-Na also had sparkling light blue eyes, which by themselves would have made her a remarkable beauty… but coupled with her strange dress, an intricate weave of gold and silks, it made her seem as truly exotic as an echidna could be.

PsychOps, however, had classified her as a zealot, and a manipulative one at that.

He wondered what that said about Albion, which had sent her to represent them. She was supposed to be an important instrument in the eventual reunification of Albion and Echidnapolis, but Remington could see that she would be the type to only make deals under her own terms. Frankly, he was skeptical that the two halves of Echidna-kind would ever be reunited, but the idea did have some intrinsic appeal. Of course, there were numerous and varied parties who had a vested interest in the talks failing, and an equally large number who would probably just want to eliminate Gala-Na as a rival.

Politics!

"Sir!" A voice sounded, in Remington's left ear. The hidden earphone was loud enough so that only he could hear what words left it. "We have a disturbance at 24 Flower Street. The Tanner Tower."

Remington nodded, and pressed a hidden microphone glued to his lower left jaw. "Go on."

"An unauthorized AI has entered the Tower's Security System. We've sent a Hunter Killer after it, but so far we've only caught ghosts."

Remington frowned at that. "Dingo?"

"Undoubtedly sir."

Constable Remington ground his teeth together. With the collapse of the Eggman Empire, the dingo were the only other major group on mobius to make extensive use of AIs. Albion had them, he knew, but they were generally antiquated and not suited for infiltration or intelligence gathering. Prower Dynamics also had them, but had never utilized them in an offensive manner. The Dark Legion, too, occasionally used AIs, but they were a small organization compared to the others, and certainly not a nation state in any sense of the word. The Kingdom of Acorn probably had some AIs at its disposal, and the Terran Protectorate definitely had them as well, but neither had ever been encountered in an Echidnapolis system.

The dingo, however, had smuggled many advanced AIs out of Dingo City before it was destroyed, and did not hesitate to use them whenever it suited their needs. These AIs were well designed and programmed for information warfare, and had come as a nasty surprise at first. Echidnapolis Security always responded with ever-improved versions of HKs (Hunter-Killer Programs) and Dynamic Firewalls, but in the last three years, only four dingo AIs had been caught. The ones that were left were the craftiest and most capable, able to slip past multiple HKs on a single closed network long enough to be physically extracted.

"Do whatever you can to catch that AI. Direct another four PatComs to the area, and seal the building's computer network." Remington looked up and saw that Gala-Na was staring at him. He lowered his left hand from the hidden microphone on his jaw, and smiled at her.

"Is there a problem?" She asked, raising an imperious eyebrow.

"No, ma'am. Everything is under control," He lied, but hoped that saying it would make it true.

"Good," Gala-Na said, and leaned forward slightly. "Because I…"

"Sir!" The ESA controller yelled, this time, his voice more panicked. "Jacobs' hoverplatform light just went out! So did Blake's! Both PatComs are down! There's someone or something on that roof!"

"Damn it!!" Remington suddenly leapt forward, covering Gala-Na with his body. She barely had time for an indignant yelp, before a thunderous explosion rocked the hovercar, and everything went black.

* * *

One of the two hoverplatforms crashed onto the roof, a gaping hole where its rider's left temple used to be. The other Patrol Combatant, its driver similarly dead, smashed up against the edge of the roof before plummeting down five dozen floors to crash into the sidewalk below – a jumbled heap of twisted metal and bloody flesh. On the roof, a lone dingo whistled to himself as he lowered his R-7A semiautomatic. 

He then smiled and shook his head.

Echidnapolis Security hoverplatforms were fine for moving around, but only a fool tried to fight from them. They left one exposed, out in the open, and on an inherently unstable firing platform. It was a mistake no dingo would have made, but the echidna had nothing if not (over) confidence in their technology, and the supposed edge it gave them. Holstering the weapon, in one smooth motion, the dingo reshouldered his CLAW, and reacquired his target.

This time, where was no distraction.

With a roar of flame out the back of the firing tube, the missile took off, moving in a very slight zig zag pattern, to throw off any attempted laser or anti-missile weaponry between it and its target. It needn't have bothered. There was not a single thing standing between it and the center hovercar in the convoy. It was then that the dingo assassin heard an electric ''vvvum' sound, and felt the empty CLAW casing in his hands and against his shoulder get a dozen degrees hotter.

And, as fast as the missile was, compared to the speed of light, it was a snail racing a bullet train. An electric impulse shot down the length of the super thin wire connecting the in fight rocket and its launch command electronics. A hundred feet from its target, the missile's guidance controls spasmed, and it veered off course. Twirling in a narrow spiral, it hit the ground twenty feet from the middle hovercar and exploded, blowing fist sized chunks of asphalt and a cloud of dust into the air. The shields of the three cars, activated by their detection of incoming projectiles, glowed as the bits of road smashed into the barrier only to bounce off harmlessly.

Back on the roof, the dingo assassin looked over his shoulder, and saw two others of his kind, dressed in black and gray uniforms. One had his left arm out, and the dingo killer could see that the forearm and hand were encased in a black and metal red gauntlet. Protruding from the gauntlet was a small cylinder, which glowed neon blue. He knew instantly what these newcomers were.

'Military Police?' He briefly wondered. 'What…? Why…?'

Then, drowning out any instinct to question the situation, he remembered his orders. When he moved, he did so with incredible speed, spinning and using his momentum to throw the discarded CLAW at the two other dingo. At the same time, and without any less speed, he reached for and drew out his favored R-7A handgun. The brief whine of a capacitor charging heralded the two bright blue plasma bolts fired in his direction.

But he was ready.

One of the two police, the leader, had overloaded and ruined the assassination attempt by shooting the CLAW before the missile hit its target. The plasma bolts were 'cool,' and primarily electronic and not thermal. Being hit by them would not be lethal, but they would stun him, and he had orders not to be taken alive by any of the local authorities. He assumed that that included dingo ones.

He twisted and turned, one of the plasma bolts missing by inches, the other by almost half a meter, as it hit the thrown CLAW, further frying that weapon's useless electronics. Taking careful aim, the assassin fired a semiautomatic burst of rounds at the closest of the two dingo military police. Normally, he would have preferred headshots, but there was no opportunity to take precise aim. As a result, two of the three shots squarely hit the other dingo in the chest, sending him flying backwards.

The one left, the leader, meanwhile swatted the broken CLAW out of the air before it could hit him. He leaned forward, his left arm leveled to get another shot. The light plasma projector on a _Justitia_ Gauntlet was not particularly fast firing, and had no capacity for automatic fire at all. Each plasma bolt had to be charged, stored, targeted, and accelerated. It wasn't a particularly efficient weapon, but then it wasn't meant to kill targets, only to incapacitate them. It had a kill setting, of course, in which the bolt was more thermal than electric, but that was not designed to be its preferred operational setting.

Army Troops and Special Forces were used to kill a target.

Military Police were sent to bring them in for questioning.

That gave the assassin the advantage. Steadying himself, he jumped forward and to the left, knowing that it was harder to track a target with your arm if it was moving away from the center of mass, instead of towards. Surprisingly, the other dingo didn't fire, which didn't open a target window for the assassin. Instead, he also moved forward, his right arm in an open palm strike.

Like most dingo, the assassin had, over years of Army training, developed both dislike and fear for what many called the "Toyboys" of the Interior Kommissariat. The response was, in a way, only natural. The Military Police were the authority they had no say in – an organization that operated independently of the Army and outside its normal command structure. Those who ran afoul of it simply disappeared. Yet, while the organization as a whole was intimidating, most regular troops had disdain for the police themselves, who didn't seem to go through the rigorous training of the Army, and lived in relative luxury.

Most thought of Kommissariat "Justices" as soft and pampered.

Setting his footing, the assassin grappled his opponent with confidence. A confidence born of years of training, and an indoctrination in the superiority of dingo warmaking and physical prowess. His left hand countered the Policeman's right one, and his right hand grabbed the other dingo's left by the wrist. For a second or two, the assassin's confidence remained high, as he shifted his weight and balance for a simple throw maneuver.

The trenchcoat-wearing dingo didn't budge.

For a few seconds, the two struggled against each other, and the policeman's eyes narrowed dangerously.

"Surrender or be taken by force," he said, in an even tone. "Living or Dead, you belong to us now."

Such was the Dingo Judicial System.

The Assassin growled in response. His muscles strained as he tried to break out of the grapple he found himself in, but it quickly became apparent that he couldn't overpower his opponent. Quite the contrary – the other dingo seemed to not be struggling in the slightest. He leaned forward, and took a small step, pushing the assassin back. In desperation, the weakening dingo thrust his head forward, in a brutal head-butt.

Instantly, pain filled his head, and he felt the beginnings of a concussion. It did, however, surprise or stun the dingo policeman enough for the assassin to slip out of the grapple. Turning, the killer ran for the edge of the roof, and with all his strength, jumped. For what seemed like a minute, he was in freefall, flying forward and downward towards the closest rooftop. The assassin timed his landing perfectly, and rolled before half the bones in his legs broke from the impact.

Turning, to see if the officer would try and take a potshot in his direction, the assassin saw the policeman in midair. Surprised, and more than a little amazed, he nonetheless remembered to get to his feet and head for the closest way off the roof: a fire exit on the building's south side. Behind him, the dingo Military Police Justice landed with a thunderous crash, one far beyond his apparent weight, creating a small broken crater where he landed.

Then, the Justice stood up, apparently unharmed by the landing.

The assassin sneered, and kept running. He was halfway to the fire escape when something that felt almost like a snowball hit his lower back. He felt chilling cold up his spine, which quickly turned from numbness to paralysis. He managed only a few more feet before his legs gave out, and he fell on his face. Seconds later, the assassin felt himself being turned over. With his last bit of strength, he reached down to his right boot and pulled out a small knife. He aimed to stab the officer in the heart, but only hit the palm of the Justice's left hand, stabbing straight through it.

The other dingo hardly flinched.

"You're tenacious," the Justice said, and the assassin could see the other dingo's name tag. It said: Kage, Stryker. Mjr.Gen.

"Just what I'd expect… from Special Forces training," Kage continued, and with his right hand pulled the knife out of his left palm. "But man, woman, or child, Private or General, no one escapes the Kommissariat. No one is beyond our reach, our law, or our punishment."

"Kage…?" The assassin's eyes widened. "Stryker's son… How? How can you not know that…. That…"

And then the assassin choked, gasped, and went limp.

Standing over his prize, Major General Kage's frown deepened. Kneeling, he bent over and took the other dingo's pulse, both at the wrist and neck. He then opened the other mobian's mouth, looking for any evidence of a broken cyanide capsule. But there was nothing. In the distance, the wailing of sirens promised further interruptions and investigations, but not by the Armee Kommissariat Enterior. In minutes, the roofs would be swarming with echidnas under the direction of Constable Remington, and his ESA.

Standing back up, Kage's mind worked a mile a minute.

"Anasztaizia," he said, after a handful of seconds. "Give the order to the others. We're Extracting. Target is Deceased."

He paused, then added: "Mission Failure."

-----

Echidnapolis weather didn't suit itself well to setting a Noir settling. The skies were generally very clear, it didn't rain that often and when it did it was usually only a light shower, and the city was well lit with relatively wide roads. It was, really, a nice place to live, especially if you were and echidna. For non-echida it was worse, naturally, but even then it had enough positives to it to continually attract immigrants from on and off-island.

Vector smiled and wiped a small hint of dust from the plaque that hung on the plaster wall. It said, simple:

Chaotix Detective Agency

Registration # 4591-78002

This organization conforms to Echidnapolis Zoning Ordinances, and is licensed to operate for so long as its lease entitles it, or until terminated by criminal negligence, contractual infringement, or dissolution by controlling interests. This document, upon signature by the District Comptroller, permits all manner of legal protections of rights available to Class (D) businesses, including the right to file for protection from bankruptcy.

Below that, three signatures:

District Comptroller_ Jameli-Ra_, May 3237 MC  
_ Vector  
Espio  
Mighty_

At the very bottom was more legalese, but Vector ignored that. He liked the luster of the document: the pearly white paper and the curling gold leaf inlay along the edges. Even then, it was more than just a document. It was an entitlement – it was an entrance into a class of citizens relatively rare in Echidnapolis. Those signatures made him, Espio, and Mighty into businessmen.

Respected members of the Echidnapolis community.

It was something he had, years ago, never given a lot of thought to. He had been used to a nomadic lifestyle, before he met Knuckles and joined the Chaotix. He had always wanted to be strong and independent – it was just his way. He had never thought all too much about joining a group of community, even after he started to gain the first true friends he'd ever had. Back then, he had been happy just to wander and do what he liked, with little concern for the rest of the world outside his small clique.

That changed, only half a year ago.

At the time, he had been spending nights trying to get a singing career going, since the whole band thing had fallen apart. He frequented two or three clubs, trying to get a handle on his prospects, and had met another crocodilian who worked in one of the bars. She was female (Vector vaguely knew than most mobians had trouble telling male and female crocs apart), and a bartender, and after a week of building up courage, he asked her out. The relationship went well, at least compared to the often rocky-patchy nature of Knuckles and Julie-Su's affair.

One day, after a performance that attracted a particularly large number of fellow crocodilians, he began speculating that crocs heard music differently from other mobians. She, however, had disagreed. She flat out told him that he didn't sing particularly well, but that so many other crocs came out to listen to him anyway, because they admired him. In a society that was whole echidna dominated, Vector of the Chaotix was a symbol that "other races" could become famous and important as well.

Maybe it would have happened anyway, but he remembered that as the catalyst.

He could not go back to, or simply resume, the lifestyle he had started off with. Knuckles had changed him. The years had changed him. The fight had changed him. Of course, perhaps he was simply getting older. Regardless, he needed a way to pay the bills anyway, and Vector was not the type of crocodile to be happy working in a convenience store or in the lobby of a hotel. Knuckles really had nothing to worry about financially (even if all the influence and power of the Guardians evaporated, the state would support him like any other echidna), but for himself, Espio, and Mighty the choice came down to getting a job, or eventually going back to wandering.

And none of the three were the same mobians they had been five years ago.

None of them wanted to go back to being vagrants and drifters.

So, while they were out saving the world and helping people, it made sense to get paid for it too, once in a while. Vector "tsked," and halfheartedly wished that Echidnapolis allowed a Bounty System, like they had in parts of continental Mobius. It would certainly be convenient to go out and hunt down the bad guys, instead of waiting for someone to come to them with their problems. Then again, Bounty Hunting led down a dark and seductive road: one that was deceptively steep, and difficult to turn from.

At least Hunters never lacked for work.

Vector sighed, his eyes lingering on Mighty's rather sloppy signature. The strong-armed armadillo had disappeared, only a few weeks after signing onto the Chaotix Detective Agency project, somewhere in western mainland Mobius. Mighty's extended family lived there Vector knew, as he was the only member of the Chaotix not born on Angel Island. After not hearing from their friend for several weeks, the rest of the Chaotix minus Charmy (who was then, and still is, with his people in Goldenhive) went to investigate. It was their first case, in a way…

And it had ended in failure.

Mighty was gone. No one had seen him, and no one had seen any of his family either. There had been signs of fighting in westernmost Mobius, both from Eggman robots and from assorted groups of bandits. The region was much better now that Echidnapolis had sent troops to help stabilize the area and prevent a flood of refugees from fleeing to Angel Island. Still, there was no sign of Mighty.

But he, like all the members of Chaotix, was tough as nails.

Plus, he'd disappeared for months on end before.

Vector was sure that he'd be back, eventually. In the meantime, he and Espio worked overtime to try and pay the bills on the Agency, their apartments, AND Mighty's. When their friend came back, he'd find everything as he left it. Of course, it wasn't easy. Business was sometimes (hell, often times) slow. Simply put, the Agency couldn't afford to turn away anyone willing to pay.

Not that Vector liked tailing some housewife and telling her husband that she was cheating on him. It wasn't the kind of work he really imagined doing, as a Detective and Private Eye. But "never turning away a paying customer" became an essential motto, one he insisted on honoring. So he did the boring routine stuff, knowing full well that sooner or later, something big would drop in his lap.

"Something really big," he whispered. "I can feel it."

He heard a chime, as someone opened the front door. Was it Espio, back from the Kanne-Lae Case? No. No, he had just left a few hours ago. A customer then! The floor of the building they rented out only had a few rooms: a main one, with three desks, one of which was empty, a lounge, a bathroom, and a small front lobby with some magazines and chairs. Not that there was ever exactly a need to wait very long, but it helped to be prepared. Vector left the main room, and put his hand on the doorknob in preparation for an impressive entrance.

Instead, he felt a chill down his spine.

Slowly opening the door, he put on a helpful smile, and opened his mouth to greet this new arrival. The words never left his tooth filled maw. In front of him was a girl, an echidna, but she looked to be only an adolescent. She also looked like she'd been in a fight – her lower lip was bruised, and her left eye was closed because of swelling. Her clothes, strange looking as they were, had been torn as well. Her bizarre orange coloring (a shade Vector had never seen before in echidnas) was matted in places, and she seemed to be shivering.

"By the Source…" Vector rushed forward, and caught her as she fell forward into his arms. "Are you alright? Who did this to you?"

She turned her head slightly, and looked up at him with crazed blue eyes. "You… Guardian…"

"Guardian?" Vector asked, eyes widening. "Do you mean Knuckles? Who… who are you?"

"My name is…" She seemed to struggle with finishing that sentence, and cocked her head slightly. "My… my name is Tikal…"

Vector nodded.

"My name is Tikal," she repeated, and smiled hysterically. "And I… I bring word of doom…"

Vector felt another chill, up his arms and into the base of his skull. It was a primal animal fear. In his arms, Tikal started to giggle, tears welling up in her eyes.

"Tell the Guardian I was here," she said, still with a mad smile. "And… and tell the Guardian that he is doomed… That in my footsteps walks a monster that will devour us all!"

She laughed, eyes fully dilated, as if she was looking straight through him. Unsteadily, she reached up, and grabbed him by the back of his head, pulling him closer.

"I have looked into the Eyes of the Devourer…" she whispered, as if afraid someone would overhear her. "And even now, his gaze eats away at my soul… He dreams of a city in flames, and hears the deafening roar of a hundred thousand wings… Tell the Guardian this, and then flee. Flee if you value your life…"

And then, quietly, she died, her head flopping back.

It took almost a minute for Vector to come to terms with what had happened.

"Oh gods…"

* * *

Deep underground, a heart of evil, in the shape of a giant emerald, began to glow with awakening power.

* * *


	12. Dancing With the Devil II

Sally couldn't believe how much Hope had grown.

The woman who stood in front of her, hand gesturing to enter the apartment, was a far cry from the girl who had lived in Knothole after the destruction of Station Square. She had heard that humans experienced rapid growth spurts during puberty, but had never seen it with her own eyes. She had to look up, actually look up, to see into Hope's eyes, and Sally knew she was no slouch in the height department herself.

"Please, come in. Would you like a drink?" Hope asked, with a familiar small smile. She still had her overlander accent, with soft 's's and vowels. Human speech, Sally knew, used a lot of inflection and complex pronunciation. "Gold Cola, maybe? Or Titan?"

'Soft drinks?' Sally wondered, silently, before remembering that Hope, despite her newfound height, was still very young by human standards. She smiled back at the gesture, though she wasn't very thirsty.

"That's quite alright…" She started to say, but Hope cut her off.

"No! No! It's no problem, Sally! Really!" Hope insisted, and Sally was glad she took such an informal approach to their relationship. Sally had been Hope's mentor for many weeks; Sally supposed that, if only for a while, their association had been similar to how she and Tails had been.

"Gold Cola is fine, then," Sally replied, and then looked over her shoulder at the other mobian present. "Antoine?"

The coyote had been silent since he, Sally, and a cadre of Royal Guards had arrived at Hope's apartment building, in downtown Mobotropolis. His eyes scanned the main room of the apartment suspiciously, but after a few seconds he seemed to relax. Closing the door behind them, content with the two Royal Guards standing watch outside, he let the façade crack and gave a crooked smile of his own.

"Tze same, please," he said, and bowed his head slightly.

"Of course! Have a seat anywhere. The place is a total mess, I know, but bear with me!" Hope grinned widely, and walked into the nearby kitchen. Sally watched her for a second before finding a place to sit on a large couch. Antoine sat nearby, in an armchair. There was a coffee table, but it was covered by books, magazines, and a small notebook computer. It really wasn't much of a mess (Sonic, Sally knew, could really make a mess of a place), but Hope had always been overly conscious of herself.

When Hope walked back in with three glasses of soda and ice, Sally again tried to interpret the changes in the human girl. She was taller, and somewhat lankier, that much was obvious at first glance. She still had a long mane of hair, in that odd color the humans called blonde, and it was still curled at the ends just above her shoulders. Her hairless skin seemed a bit paler, too, but her blue eyes were the same as before. She wore denim jeans and a white tee shirt without adornment or markings. White socks covered her feet. She also, Sally noted, seemed to be developing a more mature shape.

Such a thing was easier to discern in humans.

But she also knew, in a vague way, that the humans thought of physical maturity differently than mobians did. It highlighted the problem she wanted to address. She knew things about humans, but she really didn't understand them. Sally doubted any mobians really understood humans or overlanders. Still, she was eager to see if Hope could help bridge that gap.

"Once again, I'm sorry I wasn't available earlier. I've been very busy, you see… I've got lots of studying, and meeting with Ms. Florentine and the rest. Its been very hectic," Hope explained, and handed Sally and Antoine each a cold glass. Both nodded their thanks in turn.

"I understand perfectly," Sally answered. "Are your studies doing well? I'm sure you're ahead of the curve."

Hope smiled wanly and sat down next to the Crown Princess. "I wish! I'm taking the placement exam a year early, plus I've had to compensate for those years after The Fall… My last practice exam had me scoring only a 3480 – barely in the eightieth percentile. My language skills are quite good, but I'm a little weak in math and military history."

"I am sure tzat you wills be, how you say? Pullings through?" Antoine scratched behind his right ear, a sure sign that he was a little nervous and had no idea what she had said. Hope bushed off the whole matter with a wave of her hand.

"But that's my problem. How can I help you, Sally? Antoine?" The young teenage human took a drink from her glass of soda, before putting it down on the cover of one of the hardcover books on the table.

"I wanted…" Sally paused, to think over how to phrase things. "I want to know more about humans. About your people. I want to… to understand them."

Hope briefly closed her eyes, and smirked. "I was hoping you just wanted to talk about old times."

Sally held up her hands in a gesture of peace. "I didn't mean so say that I don't want to reminisce, but…"

"I know. I know. Right to the point." Hope nodded. "So: I know what you want to know. I know what you want to understand. I suppose I was too young to give you much of an answer back when… but maybe now I can at least be a little helpful. You want to understand why we hate you."

Hope sighed. "Why human beings and mobians can't just get along. That's it, right? It has to be. What else is there, between our people?"

Sally looked to Antoine, who seemed to be regarding the conversation with discomfort, and then back to Hope, who took another drink after her little speech. Sally eventually answered, honestly.

"That's it. Yes," she responded. "The history of humans and mobians is one of war and bloodshed. Of all manner of atrocities. Why? Mobians may fight against each other, but never with the vehemence and animosity displayed by humans. Why?"

"The truth is…" Hope paused, wondering whether to answer or not. "The truth is that I don't know. I don't think anyone knows. It isn't like we're born this way. After all, I don't hate you, or mobiankind, at all. And I'm almost 100 purebred human."

She held up her five-fingered hand, a visible symbol of her strong and dominant human genes. Only a tenth of the human population had the trait for five fingers. The rest were overlanders, with only four fingers on each hand. She made a rueful snort, and continued speaking.

"It isn't like, one day you get a memo in the mail, or in your dreams, telling you to go out and kill mobians. It just seems to be the natural way." Hope frowned at that. "The natural way. Yea. That's it."

"Meaning what?" Antoine asked, cocking his head slightly.

"Human beings, and overlanders for that matter, are very different from mobians. This much goes without saying, but you have to understand the depth of the difference. While I've come to see that mobians and humans are very similar in many ways – more similar than dissimilar – these are, I think, completely irrelevant in the end."

"The similarities are irrelevant?" Sally asked, not quite understanding. "How can that be?"

Hope nodded at this. "Do you remember, Sally, when all the mobians my age went to see the apples being picked off the trees? How fascinated everyone was with the red apples?"

Sally nodded in response. "I remember. Everyone got to pick their own apple."

"Do you remember which apple I picked?" Hope then asked, but didn't give Sally the chance to answer. "It was the green one."

"A green apple?" Antoine made n acerbic expression. "Why woulds you…?"

"Because it was different," Hope answered, cutting him off. "All the mobian children, without being told, picked the more numerous red apples. I picked a green one. Because it was rare. Because it was different. And, more than any mobian, humans are both attracted to difference, not sameness. Maybe it has something to do with the way our brains are wired. I don't know. But having lived among both humans and mobians, I can say that while mobians generally focus on commonalities, humans focus on differences."

"And green apples are good," Hope added, totally off topic. "Mobians just don't have a taste for sour things."

"Differences…" Sally said, and pondered that. "Our differences?"

"Exactly. Take a good look at me Sally. Antoine. Would you consider me attractive?" Hope stood up and brushed her hair back behind one ear. Among other humans, the gesture would have been coy, but it did not have the desired affect on present company. Antoine looked away, not wanting to appear insulting. Sally also averted her eyes.

"My small round fleshy ears, my pink skin, my thin fingernails, no tail…" Hope 'hmfed' and then went on. "Not to mention my face. Flat. Snout less. Furless. A strange stub for a nose? Don't feel bad about seeing me as hideous. To mobians, I know I am. I'm used to it. Its quite alright… among my own kind, my looks have some charm, I know, but I don't expect to turn many mobian heads."

She then smirked. "I wonder what sort of pandemonium I could cause by walking around nude? I dare say it'd scar more than a few mobians for life."

"Those are only physical…" Sally responded tentatively, as Hope sat back down.

"Oi." Antonie grunted.

"'Only physical?'" Hope sighed. "If only it were that simple. Over time, humans come to dislike difference… especially dramatic difference, and especially when it is threatened by that same difference. It comes to see it not as a diverse expression of the many ways life can form, but at a divergence, or as a corruption of the way things should be. But all these are excuses, Sally. The real reason… the real reason I think so many humans hate mobians…"

Hope took a drink.

"The real reason is that the alternative is hating ourselves. Humans are more aggressive than mobians, I think. I'm quite certain there are even studies that can prove it. Human beings are inherently competitive, and need to feel positively about ourselves. Maybe its because we spend so many years as children, being looked after by our parents." She gave a derisive laugh there, and continued. "It doesn't matter, in the end. It is all human nature. We squabble and fight. If mobians disappeared, we human beings, we brothers and sisters in arms, we would turn against each other. Mobians may war with each other on occasion, but for human beings, the conflicts are eternal."

"Mobians, then, are an outlet for this. Compared to them, human differences are minute. That's the root of the issue, I think." Hope raised a delicate eyebrow. "What's wrong? Let me guess: 'What a shallow reason!' Right?"

"Something along those lines." Sally finally admitted.

"Hate doesn't need a good reason to exist." Hope shook her head. "Though I'm sure you could ask experts on this field, and hear something similar dressed up in fancy language. Maybe they'd call it… what's that word? Socioeconomic. They'd mention a struggle for resources, and stuff like that. I have no doubt that that plays a part in things, but the hate Sally…

For just an instant, Hope's sky blue eyes took on a sinister shade. "The animosity comes from human insecurity, and from our need to dominate."

Hope blinked, lowered her chin, and the gleam was gone from her eyes, replaced with seriousness. "And that, Sally… can be suppressed, but never fully removed from the human psyche. It is more a part of what makes us human than our clawless fingers, hairless skin, and flat faces. It goes deeper than genetics. It is programmed into our souls."

"You make it sound so final," Sally said, sadly. "So how can there be peace? And what about you? Are you saying that you have this… feeling, this inclination… even now?"

"Of course," Hope answered, without hesitation. "I want to think of myself as better than others – smarter, for example. I want to feel that I am of worth. I want to… need to… feel superior to somebody. Anybody. Saying it makes me sound heartless, I think. And maybe it is. But deep down, that is my nature."

"Are you sayings that tze mobians are not… ambitious?" Antoine asked.

"Don't think I'm describing simple ambition. Superiority is something similar, but different. Something… darker, I think." Hope sighed again, and finished her drink. "Sally… any deal you make with the Protectorate… do not put too much stock into it. Maybe the old government of Station Square would have been reasonable, but not this one. To many humans, any prejudice they feel towards mobians is secondary. To many, it is simply unimportant."

"Those are not the group who lead the Protectorate. They wear their hate like a badge. Dealing with someone like that… is like Dancing with the Devil. Be happy if he only steps on your toes. Even after Sonic and the others started fighting Uncle Julian in Station Square, their popularity was always tempered by suspicion." Hope cocked her head in thought. "Though, come to think of it… there was this one kid…"

"Hmm?" Sally wondered where Hope was going with this.

"Back in Station Square. He was two grades behind me, but I remember him because he was always around Sonic. A strange boy… I mean, many children back then were fascinated by Sonic, but this kid was obsessed with him." Hope shrugged. "Maybe it was because Sonic was living with him. I dunno."

"Sonic was living with this boy?" Sally asked.

"In a mansion. The kid was rich." Hope clarified. "I went over a few times and saw it for myself. Amy lived there too, and so did Tails… until he moved out to his Laboratory in Mystic Ruins. I remember that Tails and this kid had some sort of falling out… but I don't know the details."

"Chris Thorndyke! That was his name! Not many friends, really. And his parents were rarely at home – I only met them once, and only because they heard I was a Kintobor." Hope growled that last part. Her family past was still a sticky topic. "Neither of them seemed too pleased with Sonic living in their house, but it wasn't like they were there most of the time anyway. So I guess its no surprise that the kid followed Sonic around like a love starved puppy."

"Chris Thorndyke… I've never heard of him," Sally admitted. "Antoine?"

"Non." The last coyote also pleaded ignorance.

Hope nodded sadly at that. "I imagine he's dead then."

Sally gasped, covering her mouth with her hand. "But…"

"Almost no one his age survived The Fall of the city," Hope said, grimly. "You weren't there, Sally… you can't imagine what it was like... the Flooding of Station Square. Almost certainly, he would have been trying to get involved in the fight with Perfect Chaos. If Sonic never mentioned him to you, Sally, then he's almost certainly dead."

"Washed away like leaves in a gutter…" Hope's voice trailed off, and she closed her eyes tightly for a few seconds. When she opened them, she managed a smile, and stood up, walking quickly to the apartment kitchen. When she came back, Hope Kintobor, still barely into her teens, but old and experienced beyond her years, had composed herself.

"So!" She said, trying to be more cheerful. "How are you and Bunnie doing, Antoine? How about you and Sonic, Sally?"

The two mobians smiled too, as they danced around the problems in their respective relationships. And, though she was relieved to broach a less fatalistic topic, Sally silently ran through what Hope had said. Were humans and mobians truly beyond overcoming their differences? She found it difficult to reconcile this Hope with the quiet, but observant, child who had lived in Knothole.

Was it living among her own kind that made her like this?

Or was it the Fall of Station Square?

Beneath Hope's bright smile, there was a hidden darkness. She had seemed so helpless as a child, but now she towered above her mobian friends, and despite her friendly demeanor, there was something alien about her. The inflection of her voice, the motions she made as she spoke, the complex expressions on her face…

'The animosity comes from human insecurity, and from our need to dominate.'

Sally found herself scowling at the words.

'You don't think we should even give peace a chance?' Sally wondered, but never said as much. 'I refuse to believe that! The only alternative is endless war! The only end in sight: genocide!'

'I can't believe that!' Sally's right hand clenched into a fist. 'I can't!'

* * *

Espio didn't particularly like what he had been asked to do. Still, he trusted Vector, and was willing to follow through, even if it meant spying on a friend. Plus, he wasn't sure he could even pull off what Vector had asked him to do. Espio knew that his chaos-enhanced abilities were far superior to any other mobian chameleon's, but the current circumstances were pushing him to his limit.

Invisible to all present, Espio stood rigid and unmoving – not flinching a single muscle. Directly in front of him, Knuckles waited, doing all he could to draw attention to himself. It wasn't difficult, really. As the Guardian, he was somewhat of a celebrity on Angel Island, and he and the Chaotix had a friendly rivalry with Remington and his Echidnapolis Security Agency. So Knuckles meeting with Remington was eventful, if nothing new.

Remington emerged from his office, an exasperated look on his face. "Knuckles!"

"Remington." The younger echidna returned the curt greeting. "It isn't like you to keep me waiting. Who was that on the phone?"

Remington's office was separate from the rest in the Agency Headquarters, but glass windows still allowed those nearby to look in, so long as the blinds weren't closed. The Constable had been on the phone for a few minutes, and apparently unable to dislodge himself even when Knuckles arrived.

"Gala-Na. She wanted to thank me for saving her," Remington said, a little angrily. By the Constable's tone, it was obvious there was something wrong with that assumption.

"Didn't you, though?" Knuckles asked, and motioned with his head for Remington to tell him on the way to whatever business had called the Guardian here. Espio followed close behind as they walked.

"This isn't supposed to be common knowledge… even Gala's being kept in the dark about it… but we were almost killed," Remington said with a huff. "My security botched the job, and we almost paid for it with our lives. The Tech boys say that the assassin's weapon overloaded, due to a close range discharge of electrostatic plasma. In other words, someone saved our asses, and he wasn't a member of the Agency. Dimes to dollars he was dingo, just like the assassin."

"What do you think?" Knuckles asked. "Maybe they staged it to take credit for saving you and Gala-Na?"

"They aren't admitting even being there. Frankly, I don't know what happened. I can only assume that the assassin was a rogue… but that doesn't fit the pattern of how Strkyer and his boys work. Dingo almost never go rogue like this. Most dingo officers are hesitant to take a piss without orders."

Knuckles coughed out a single laugh at that.

Remington sighed and waved his hand. "That isn't why I wanted to see you, anyway. I'll take care of the dingo…"

"So what do you need my help with?" Knuckles asked, a little impatiently. It was obvious that he was anxious to get back to the White Games being held in Ice Cap Zone.

"Something more up your alley. Something… paranormal, I suppose." Remington didn't seem to like the choice in words. He had always been the sort to put his trust in the absolute authority of rationality.

Knuckles was much the same. He 'hmfed.'

"Paranormal, is that it?" Knuckles tone was dismissive. "I don't suppose I can blame you for having that impression of me."

"Strange occurrences follow you like a shadow," Remington explained, though there was no need. "You and all Chaos Users."

The two echidnas entered an elevator and descended several floors while they talked. Espio focused on keeping invisible. It was extremely difficult in the more crowded parts of the building, but with only Remington and Knuckles present, he allowed himself to relax. So few creatures even thought to watch their back. Espio knew he could trail Remington almost indefinitely so long as he kept to the less populated parts of the building, but he was less sure of himself when it came to Knuckles.

Eventually, the two reached a sealed door, with a sign above it in black and red.

_MORGUE_

Remington leaned down, and a small orb glowed as it scanned his retinas. The morgue doors obediently opened, and the three mobians walked through. The morgue staff were present, in white lab coats, but paid no attention to Remington and his guest, much less the invisible Espio. As they walked to the area where the bodies were stored, another echidna walked up to meet them.

"Here to see our mystery guests?" The newcomer asked.

"Yep." Remington replied, and motioned for them continue. The morgue was large enough to house at least ninety bodies, storied all along a single wall in retractable bays. The Echidnapolis Constable stopped in front of the one labeled "18B."

Under the number of the bay was a smaller tag:

_UNKNOWN (Female) (Echidna) (5601-78004)_

"Open it," Remington ordered. "Let him see."

The other Echidna did as required, and unlocked the bay with an electronic swipe card. He then pulled it open with a hiss of cold air. Inside, lying peacefully, was the naked body of a young echidna girl. Knuckles eyes widened at the sight, and Espio's narrowed. He instantly recognized her as the girl that Vector had described as dying in his arms.

"Do you recognize this girl?" Remington asked, and looked up from the body at Knuckles.

The Guardian nodded. "She looks a little older, but it's her… no doubt about it. It's Tikal."

"That's the name your friend gave us as well." Remington was silent for a few seconds. "Did you know her?"

Knuckles tore his eyes away from the body. "Yeah… you could say that. But the Tikal I knew… this can't be her."

"Why?" Remington asked, with a certain intensity. "She isn't in any of the city records. How do you know her?"

"Tikal… Tikal has been dead for hundreds of years." Knuckles made a fleeting smirk at the irony. "This looks like her, but it can't really be. She was only a spirit…"

"A spirit?" Remington asked, unconvinced. "A ghost?"

"Er, less a ghost, and more a Chaos manifestation or… whatever. She didn't have a body… she existed in the Master Emerald, or the Chaos Emeralds, or something like that. I don't know the science behind it. I doubt anyone did, except maybe Tails." Knuckles lowered his head, and stared at Tikal's face. "No. This can't be Tikal. How did you find her? I mean, where did you find her?"

"A dumpster, just outside the city. Not in the dumpster, mind you, but next to it." The coroner on hand recited, from memory. "Fifteen days ago. Cause of death… if you can believe it… seems to be natural. She had a heart attack. We estimate she was dead for sixteen hours before we found her."

"A heart attack?" Knuckles repeated, disbelieving. "But this girl can't be more than fifteen years old!"

"You think that's unusual?" Remington pointed to the next storage bay: 19B. It, too, had a small label.

_UNKNOWN (Female) (Echidna) (5601-78004)_

But this had a rough "#2" at the end, in felt pen.

_UNKNOWN (Female) (Echidna) (5601-78004) #2_

Espio watched at the coroner opened this bay. Inside was another girl, identical to the first, except that her head was at an odd angle, and she looked partially decayed. The chameleon heard Knuckles suck in a surprised and disgusted breath of air.

"This one was found in a park, in Northern Echidnapolis, twelve days ago." The coroner explained in monotone. "In some bushes, actually. Cause of death seems to be a broken neck, between the third and fourth vertebrae, which resulted in paralysis and eventual asphyxiation. She was twenty nine hours dead when we found her."

"The rest, doctor," Remington ordered. They moved down to the next bay, and opened it. This one had a #3 written on the identification label.

_UNKNOWN (Female) (Echidna) (5601-78004) #3_

Inside was another body, another Tikal, worse looking than the one before.

"This one is from nine days ago. Note the lacerations around the neck and upper torso," the coroner spoke dispassionately. "Cause of death in this case was severe head trauma."

"What about… fingerprints?" Knuckles asked, almost desperate.

"No prints. The pattern of scratches and gauges almost seems reminiscent of claw marks, but the hand-pattern does not correspond to any mobian on record." The coroner gently opened one of the body's eyes. "The body was reasonably fresh when it was found… in the middle of a road. According to the driver who found her, she was dead when he found her. Lab analysis indicates that she had been dead only an hour before we brought her in."

"This is…" Knuckles upper lip curled. "Someone did this? How? Why?"

"Unfortunately, we don't have any suspects. There are no prints. No DNA evidence at all. Nothing. Just these dead bodies." Remington ground his teeth together. "At least until last week."

Knuckles looked at the Constable. "What do you mean?"

The coroner took out the fourth body. It was Tikal, but she was in worse condition than the others. There were more deep bloody wounds, on the body, arms, face and especially hands. There also seemed to be some pitting. Knuckles nearly gagged at the sight.

"This one… was alive," Remington explained. "At least for a little while. She was found in Edmund Park six days ago, apparently hysterical, and she accosted several citizens. She was dead by the time the authorities responded, but witnesses describe her as looking for something or someone."

"She died of a Pulmonary Edema." The coroner added. "Her lungs were damaged, and she literally drowned in her own blood. That was probably why no one could understand what she was trying to say. Of note here are the wounds on the arms and hands, indicative of those incurred when warding off an attack by a wild animal. She was obviously assaulted, but there are no signs of rape, at least. The pitting looks to have been caused by saliva or some sort of acidic agent, but none was recovered so this is only speculation."

"Terrible," Knuckles hissed.

Espio was silently inclined to agree.

"There's more." Remington pointed to the next bay. As expected, inside it was a fifth Tikal. Knuckles gagged, and turned away.

"As you can see," The coroner said, with medical detachment. "The body was opened up below the sternum, exposing the internal organs. One of the lungs was punctured by a bladed object, and deflated. The left arm has been broken in two places with enough force to allow bone to pierce the epidermis, and both arms display a similar pattern of lacerations to the other victim. Yet more pitting can be seen around the neck and left hip. Amazingly, this one was also alive, if only for a short time."

"She appeared Downtown, and was taken to Kami-Le Memorial Hospital. The doctors were unable to save her." The coroner then added. "She died of massive hemorrhaging and blood loss."

"And the last one, please, doctor," Remington asked.

"Of course." The coroner opened the sixth bay, revealing a sixth body. This one did not show the same overwhelming carnage of the last one. "This one suffered from massive internal injuries, the majority of which are consistent with blunt trauma. There are broken ribs, and what seems like a mild concussion. There is also evidence that this girl was … assaulted sexually. All the other girls were virgins, but not this one. We have been unable to recover any fluids consistent a standard rape scenario, which leads to my belief that the object used on her was likely inanimate. That would, at least, explain many of the internal injuries in that part of the body. Others, however… are baffling. It was almost like something mauled her from the inside out."

Knuckles was, by this time, growling deep in his throat. Espio, too, felt the indignation and rage build up in him, but knew that he had to keep his emotions in check or risk losing his invisibility.

"And before you ask, yes: these are all genetically the same girl." The coroner looked down at the body and shook his head.

"This one lived long enough to talk to Vector," Remington said, face scowling deeply. "She mentioned looking for you. For the Guardian. We've already spoken to him, he isn't a suspect in this, and recorded what he remembers hearing from her. I was wondering if you had any ideas about what all this means and who did this."

"Six Tikals… this doesn't make any sense…" Knuckles turned away from the body, and looked up at the ceiling. "She should be in the Master Emerald. She shouldn't be able to be killed."

"What do you know of this girl? Who is she?" Remington asked, and then corrected himself. "Who was she?"

"Tikal… Tikal lived a couple hundred years ago. Almost a thousand, actually." Knuckles took a deep breath. "She died at the end of the Carnivore War. When her father Pachacamac unleashed the Chaos creature from the Emeralds, she was killed and somehow ended up fusing with the Emeralds. Maybe when Chaos 'left' the Emeralds, she took his place? I don't know. Chaos ended up destroying the first Dingo City before going back into the Emeralds."

"When the Eggman… when Robotnick awakened Chaos to destroy Station Square, Tikal helped us. She told us how to defeat it. But like I said, she never had a physical body." Knuckles looked over his shoulder at the Constable, the coroner, and the sixth Tikal. "Not one hair, not one flake of skin."

"That would rule out traditional source cloning, but not genetic engineering." The coroner nodded, as he spoke. "Or perhaps these are further Chaos Manifestations? We've not detected any Chaos Energy in the bodies however, but that does not discount Chaos Manifestation. After all, we know so little about the science of Chaos Mechanics."

"Six bodies…" Knuckles said, speaking as he thought. "Maybe there's one for each of the Emeralds?"

"Do you think this has something to do with the theft of the Emeralds?" Remington asked.

"I don't know," Knuckles admitted. "But as of now, I'm going to find out. The Island Emeralds may be missing, but I know for sure where at least where the Master Emerald is. 'The servers are the Seven of Chaos. Chaos is power, power enriched by the heart. The controller serves to Unify the Chaos.' Those were her words. If something is wrong… fundamentally wrong… with the other Emeralds, then all of Angel Island is in danger!"

Remington understood what Knuckles had left unsaid. "As always, Guardian, you will have my support should you need it. As a fair turn, and a matter of courtesy, I expect you will share with me any information you dig up. Whoever did this… I wouldn't mind watching the State gas the bastard responsible. Not at all."

"I'll keep you informed," Knuckles shook hands with Remington, and the two left the morgue. Espio followed close behind as Knuckles left the building, knowing well that others would get suspicious if doors opened and no one passed through them. The chameleon was starting to feel good about his performance, until Knuckles suddenly stopped, after leaving the Echidnapolis Security Agency Headquarters.

"You can't follow me where I'm going next, Espio," Knuckles said, without turning his head. "Tell Vector… I think now might be a good time to talk to Charmy. I've got a really bad feeling about this."

Espio thought, only for a second, about keeping quiet. Then, he put an invisible hand on Knuckles' shoulder.

"Good luck," he said, simply, and ran past his friend.

"Good luck to you too." The Guardian whispered, knowing Espio would never hear it. "We'll both probably need it."

'Looks like I'm going back to Haven.' Knuckles cupped his hands, and cracked his knuckles. 'Lucky me.'

* * *

The Chamber was as silent as a tomb.

Even though it was the largest nursery on the planet. Prince Charmy of Goldenhive listened to his own breath, as he sat, deep in thought. He had an impressive view of the First Nursery. From the balcony on which he sat, he could see all down the length of the chamber. It was longer than it was wide, built to a precise geometric and stylistic design. Great arching supports connected the sides and the ceiling, keeping everything stable, even in the event of outside interference.

It was all to house and protect the Eggs.

The seemingly endless rows of Eggs, kept in deep indentations in the walls by the hundreds. Further down, only halfway to the end of the Chamber, he could no longer see them as individual eggs… only as a white blur. Only as a rectangular mass, carefully set into the massive nursery walls. And in the Greater Order, every Egg had its place… every life had its place, in birth, in life, and in death.

Such was the Way of Hive.

Such was the Will of the Colony.

The vast majority of the Eggs were workers – sterile female drones without sentience, living only to serve the Colony. Others were soldiers, who were also sterile female drones, but genetically engineered not for construction, but combat. And much rarer, kept not in the walls with the soldiers and workers, but in special receptacles upraised from the floor of the nursery, were Breeders.

'Breeders… like me.' Charmy mused seeing the tiny white dots far away and below. Breeders were the 'face' and 'brains' of the Colony. They directed the drones, possessed amble sentience, and strong wills… but they, too, served the Colony in their assigned Caste. Charmy was from the highest caste of Breeders. He was a Royal. While the entirety of the Hive consisted of extended genetic relations, Charmy had been designed, from birth, to be Prince.

In that Caste, in this Hive, he was completely alone.

Singular.

Unique.

Far away, in the nursery, organic pylons monitored and maintained the environment ad atmosphere. Occasionally, the nursery staff moved about, checking the Eggs and the self-perpetuating control systems. He didn't need to be preset, but he felt a responsibility to, especially in light of his current … situation.

His current dilemma.

Next to him, he felt Saffron shift, and nuzzle her face into the crook of his shoulder. She had drifted off to sleep almost an hour ago, and he made sure not to wake her. She was not heavy, and he usually forgot about the weight of her against his shoulder and back, at least until she moved or mumbled something. He smiled warmly at her, thankful for the company.

Moments like this, with such intimacy, would be impossible when the time came for them both to assume their Caste-given duties. She would be Queen, and would assume all the responsibility of running the Hive. And he… he would wither away and die, leaving a new Prince in his place. Such was his place.

He had told his friends that he had ran away from the Hive to avoid growing up. None of them could ever truly understand what he had feared. Vector and Espio and Mighty and Knuckles. Their fate would be different. For them, adulthood was not just a responsibility, it was a great adventure to look forward to. But for the Goldenhive Prince named Charmy, it was a death sentence.

Such was the fate he had been born into.

Birth. Life. Death.

He, too, was but a part of the Colony. And… strangely… he no longer resented that. Over the years apart from his people, he had come to see that responsibility was a part of life. That his responsibility to his people was more dire than most was really of no consequence. For this realization, he truly did thank his friends…. Especially the Guardian of Angel Island. Especially Knuckles.

Which made betraying his good friend all the more painful.

Below him, the Eggs waited. They waited for him, and for the order to hatch into the world. In this Chamber, and in a half dozen others, four generations were on the verge of hatching. They were not just servants of the Hive, of his Hive, Charmy had began to believe. They were His People. They were his brothers and sisters, by the thousands, all blissfully waiting for the chance to finally be born. Waiting. Waiting.

Some as long as he had been alive.

They were Workers and Soldiers and Breeders waiting to just to be born, but to awake into a world of war. They waited to be born into a conflict started for their sake, and in their name. A war Charmy knew, with despair in his heart, that he had no war of averting. A war that, in a different world, in a better world, would never have had to happen in the first place. For the Prince of Goldenhive, thus was his dilemma.

Between his family and his friends…

To serve one was to condemn the other!

The former Chaotix's thought were rudely interrupted by the sound of heavy footsteps, and a low, rough voice.

"So," the unwelcome arrival said, walking up to the edge of the balcony. "This is where the Prince of Goldenhive hides himself?"

Charmy's eyes narrowed slightly, but he made the effort to appear more disinterested than angry at the sudden intrusion. Against his shoulder, Saffron gasped, ad straightened up, slowing awakening. Charmy found that he missed the feel of her against him, and the smell and feel of her hair against his cheek. But now was not the time for it. Not anymore.

To his left was a monster of a mobian. Charmy's appearance was close to that of most mammalian mobians, but this other was not. He was bipedal, with a single set of arms and a head, but the similarities petered off after that. This other mobian was covered by heavy armored organic plate, bristling with terrible spikes and spines. The body was harshly segmented between the chest, the abdomen and the pelvis. A pair of tough insectoid wings spread out from the shoulder blades, and the face was partially obscured by an organic helmet grafted onto the skull, and crowned by ink black hair. Long sharp antennae, like spears, twitched eagerly. This new arrival's coloring was a stark black and orange, not the normal Apidae black and gold.

He was the Prince of the Giant Hornet Hive called Yamato.

His name was Kenichi.

The Hornet Prince 'hmfed' loudly, his sharp black nose flaring.

"You see one Egg Chamber, you see them all," he said, looking out over the great nursery, his arms crossed. "Though as I think of where I stand, I can not help but appreciate the irony. After all… over the centuries, how many of your kind have died to keep mine from this place? Thousands? No: Millions most likely. But all that is history, isn't it, Prince Goldenhive?"

Charmy turned his eyes from Kenichi, and back to the nursery. He didn't answer.

"It is history. Ancient History." Kenichi continued, slowly getting to the point of his business. "After all the fighting, after all the years, here stands a Prince of Yamato Colony, not simply in peace, but as an ally. This is the glorious time in which we live. This is the purpose, the dream, for which we were bred."

Charmy still didn't answer.

Kenichi sniffed the air, and sneered. "I can smell it. Soon, these Eggs will hatch. Here, and in all the Seven Colonies of the Quaz Xialjyet. When they do, when our purposes are fulfilled, we will finally have peace – peace assured by expansion. Unfettered expansion, once the echidna and dingo are scoured from the island and from the world."

The Giant Hornet slammed his left fist into his palm with a loud clap. "Thousands of years ago, this land was ours… and it will be again! I, Prince Kenichi, will see this dream come to fruition!"

Charmy's frown deepened.

"And you… Prince Goldenhive…" Kenichi's cold black eyes settled on Charmy and Saffron. "In my dream, I see a Goldenhive amid the burned ruins of Echidnapolis. Doesn't the image just make you… shiver in anticipation?"

Charmy did shiver at that image, but not in anticipation.

"You have kept the other Princes waiting, and you have dismissed the attendants sent to retrieve you. As host, you should not disrespect the Conclave and your honored peers in this way." Kenichi smiled broadly, sharp teeth behind cruel lips. He turned and walked back the way he came. "We will wait for you, of course, but it is appreciated if you do not dally long among the Eggs. We Princes have a war to wage."

He walked away, heavy footsteps gradually diminishing.

"Charmy?" Saffron asked, her hand on his shoulder.

"I have to go," Charmy said, and stood up, leaving Saffron where she sat, legs under her, on the ground. "I'm sorry."

As he walked past and behind her, she closed her eyes and lowered her head.

"What are you going to do?" She asked, softly.

"What am I going to do?" Charmy blinked, and paused. "I'm going to do what I have to. What I think is right. If I am to be King, let me at least try and keep my principles intact."

With that said, the Prince of Goldenhive, and former Chaotix, left. Saffron didn't watch him go. When she opened her eyes, she looked out over the great nursery, and the sea of perfectly ordered Eggs.

"Your family or your friends…" She mused, knowing exactly how he thought, if not completely how he felt. "For us, what other choice is there?"

In Birth.

In Life.

In Death.


	13. Dancing With the Devil III

Sandopolis Zone.

A land of rolling desert, broken wastes, shifting sands, and timeless ruins. Against the glaring sun, amid scattered pillars and fallen statues, and in the shadow of a great pyramid, small black shapes moved. In a bunker built into the sand blasted mortar of a long dead city, through airtight doors, part dozens of guards, and down a hundred feet, the walls turned from metal to back stone. Down ancient but newly restored corridors, past a guard station, and a sealed airlock, lay the fittest tribute to modernity.

It was part lab, part medical ward.

And all those who worked there, did so under the auspices of the _Dingo Armee Komissariat of the Interior_. Among the half dozen that were present stood the leader of the Dingo Military Police: Major General Kage. He watched the officers in white coats work with his hands cupped behind his back, back ramrod straight. Only his slow breathing and his ever moving eyes betrayed his being anything more than a lifelike statue in uniform.

Along one wall of the lab, different pictures, the results of tissue scans and a thorough biopsy, were on open display. They were of the dingo assassin the Major General had brought in, but few could have told that from them. Tissues. Cells. A seemingly endless genetic code, ever scrolling downwards. It was not Kage's job to understand such things, so he did not. Curiosity did not motivate him. Duty did. Duty, and a love of country.

For that, he would kill without hesitation.

For that, he would die, should it be necessary.

Directly ahead of him, behind a see-through plastic curtain, three medtechs worked on a brown furred body. As time passed, another dingo in the gray and black uniform and trench coat of the Military Police walked in, spoke to his commanding officer, and handed him a report. He read it, nodded briefly, and the other dingo left. Finally, one of the doctors emerged from the plastic screen, holding a small tray.

"Simply fascinating!" He walked up to Kage with a small smile. "Partially degraded, but it is just like the MRI showed."

"Should it be exposed to the air?" The General asked, looking down at the small black prune in the tray.

"It should be perfectly fine, my good General. Once taken out of the bloodstream, the material appears stable and in no danger of degradation," The doctor explained. "Another few hours, though, and it wouldn't even be in one piece. It was wise to order an immediate operation to remove it, after the second scan picked it up."

Kage nodded. "Find out all you can."

The doctor went off to another area of the lab, where he and his fellows went back to work. Kage mulled over the possibilities. This was not the first unsanctioned act of dingo rebellion against the echidna. There had been many over the last few years, since the destruction of Dingo City and the return of Echidnapolis. It was disorderly, and it was insulting to the dingo as a race to have such a thing occur. For the last half a year, however, instances of insurrectionist behavior unapproved by Central Command had been on the rise, not in number, but in scale.

Assassinating a Senator?

Firing an RPG at a visiting dignitary?

Bombing an Aurorium?

Which was not to say that Central Command would be averse to blowing up a church full of echidna, should it become a military objective, but to do it without orders from higher up was unbecoming of a dingo. It galled General Kage no end: the lawlessness and pique of it all. No: Central had not approved of any of those attacks, so they simply should not have occurred. That rogue dingo would execute such brazen acts (instead of quietly murdering some random echidna off the street or some such) was doubly surprising.

Many of the dingo had been soldiers (all dingo were technically in the Army of the Hegemony, but not all served for a living), and had carried out their attacks with calculated precision. They did not, could not, fit Kage's normal view of the rogue dingo: the loathsome _hund_. What they were doing was foolish, as well, and according to their records, none of the dingo who committed these attacks had been idiots.

Even echidna hit back after a while.

And hit back they did, against dingo vagrants, settlers, and even patrols. Almost weekly, there seemed to be something of that nature, obviously the work of echidna. It was so obvious, in fact, that Kage was having a hard time believing it. He had been ordered to keep quite about the deaths, to avoid the risk of riling up the dingo population. Echidna papers, on the other hand, made the attacks into headlines. So much trouble caused…!

Could it really be the work of insurrectionist rogues?

Of lowly _hunds_?

Kage knew, instinctively that it could not. For a while, he had suspected higher levels within the Echidnapolis government of brainwashing dingo, and having them commit unsanctioned attacks. Perhaps an element in the Self Defense Forces, eager to overshadow their Security Agency cousins by trying to prove them ineffective in protecting the people? It was a sound theory, but lacked tangible proof. Finally, finally, he had something on which to build a proper hypothesis.

Already, the General's mind worked, planning his proposal to Central Command, and his father: Vicktor von Stryker. Surely, orders to plan counterstrikes and retaliatory actions would not be far behind. The challenge of what those counterattacks would entail made Kage smile, involuntarily.

But first, he needed his proof.

None of the previous insurrectionists had tested positive for known mind control drugs. Now Kage knew why. Most (reliable) mind altering chemicals were administered directly into the bloodstream, after which the subject was subjected to indoctrination and repeated conditioning. It was a process Kage, as the head of the Armee Komissariat for the Interior, was quite familiar with. But now, it seemed, the echidna had a new method of administering the agents.

Directly into the brain, via a small bio-implant.

Kage waited, while the medtechs worked.

Eventually, an hour later, the same doctor approached the still standing General. Kage had not moved eve an inch from his spot. As the other dingo approached, the General did note that he no longer wore a smile, even a small knowing one. The doctor seemed nervous, and a little embarrassed, but that was all. Outsiders would have likely expected fear, as Kage knew that something was wrong from the doctor's body language if nothing else. However, failure was not punished in some terrible sense among the dingo: those who succeed advanced in rank, and those who failed were replaced by those who didn't. The more a dingo failed, the less responsibility he was given.

It was a simple process of merit.

"General von Stryker…" The doctor began, using Kage's formal title. The same as his father's, except that the son was only a Major General, and the father was simply **The** General. "We have analyzed the structure… several times. I… We… do not believe it is of echidna manufacture."

"Not of echidna manufacture?" Kage adjusted his footing, obviously taken by surprise. "How do you know?"

"This implant seems to be some sort of bioceramic. The fabrication is… is like nothing I've ever seen before. As we suspected, it released chemicals into the brainstem, maintaining a perfect quasi-delusional state. However, it not only released these chemicals, but had some capacity for manufacturing and regulating them as well. Additionally, when the subject dies and nutrients to the area cease, the material… dies for lack of a better word, and breaks down. This technology is entirely removed from the cybernetics and bionics the echidna prefer."

"Are you telling me that that… implant was alive?" Kage asked.

"Alive is a subjective term, in some ways," The doctor avoided the question. "But this particular device was not made by echidna, dingo, mobian or human hands. From what I've seen and read of Eggman technology, this is also completely different."

"Can we make use of it?" Kage then asked, a little hopeful.

"I don't think so, sir," the other dingo admitted, and looked down shamefully at his prognosis. "Maybe after a few years of research…"

General Kage sneered, one lip rising to reveal a canine.

'Someone is playing us. Someone is using us to their advantage. The question is whom?' The dingo commandeered pondered, eyes narrowing. 'And to what end?'

* * *

**Two weeks ago.**

The Conclave met in a large domed room, constructed specially for that purpose. It was designed and built to exact specifications that every member of the Quaz Xialjyet Alliance agreed to. Gold outlined hexagonal shapes arched up, giving the room's domed ceiling a certain majesty. Equidistant from each other, the Seven Crests of the Alliance founded a generation ago hung proudly. As the Conclave was, this year, meeting in Goldenhive, the very apex of the dome also sported the crest of the hosting party: a simplified bee shape in a gold circle.

As host, Charmy's father presided over the Conclave's meeting.

Which was not to say that he contributed.

'The senile old man can't contribute much, now-a-days,' Charmy mused, a little bitterly. His father sat on a raised dais, at the north end of a circular table. The raised platform served both as a show of respect for one's elders, and as a way of discouraging contact. Watching his father's somewhat hunched composure and half lidded eyes; Charmy felt pity for his sire.

Charmy only vaguely remembered his father in his prime. He had once been a Great Prince, and one of the Seven Visionaries to found the Quaz Xialjyet. It was somewhat difficult to reconcile the stories and images he had seen of his father with what now remained. His father, the Great Prince, who had brokered peace with the terrible Hornet Hive of Yamato, who had reigned in the haughty Yellow Jackets, and who had sought out the cruel and reclusive Paper Wasps… That was a mobian of Legend.

What sat on the dais now was a husk.

By the time Charmy had returned to assume his place as Prince of Goldenhive, his father had long since begun the slide into senility. Still, between those sad memories, Charmy swore that he would never forget the look of pride and happiness on his father's face at his son's return. What remained now as the King of Goldenhive was a sad shade of past glories.

As far as he knew, he was the only Hive Prince to find the idea of dying eight years after his honeymoon the least bit unnerving. They had a ready acceptance of it born of never knowing any alternative. Charmy's mother, at least, would keep her wits as she withered and died. Not that she paid him as much notice as she did her successor Saffron. Charmy had never particularly liked his parents, even as he admired his father's adventurous youth. Their soon-to-be passing only drove home the terrible severity of the dilemma forced upon him.

He would either do his duty, or Goldenhive would die.

"I apologize for the lateness, my friends. I lost track of time." Charmy offered the assembled Hive Princes a polite bow of the head. Their reactions were mixed. Diplomacy was a new thing to the Hives, and to those born into the simplicity of a rigid caste system. As a result, virtually all the Princes wore their emotions on their sleeves. Clockwise around the table, he saw their expressions.

His old friend, Prince Mello of Nickelhive, chuckled mirthfully. He and Charmy had known each other since their earliest years, and Mello's father had been the first to join Charmy's on his quest to bring peace to the warring Hives. Princes normally didn't think of having 'brothers' in the normal sense, as each was completely unique to the Hive, but Charmy thought of Mello as one. They were even similar in size and coloring, though the Prince of Nickelhive was never without something blue colored on his personage. Mello, by choice, wore less finery than he should, looking more like an adventurer than a royal.

Next to him, Prince Ferric of Ironhive had his eyes closed in indifference. Ironhive Princes were an analytical and methodical type, evolving out of their strong defensive mentality. While Prince Ferric, too, was similar in body size and shape to Charmy, his coloring was pale. His attire was almost identical to Charmy's, with similar studded gloves, boots, belt and cape. His crown, however, was different: a simple iron circlet around his temples.

Prince Argent of Silverhive had his lips pursed in obvious annoyance, and typical petulance. He was taller than Charmy, and dressed in highly ornate plate armor. His royal coronet glittered with precious gems. Silverhive had always been Goldenhive's rival, and had been the last to sign onto the Quaz Xialjyet charter (after the Hornets of Yamato, if it was to be believed). Argent kept up the tradition of trying to counterbalance Goldenhive, and he and Charmy had quickly developed a mutual dislike and distaste for each other.

Past Charmy's empty seat waited the first of the _Vespidae_, ancient enemies of the _Apidae_. This was the lanky Prince Taji of the Yellow Jacket Hive. Taji seemed both anxious and happy to see Charmy enter the Conclave. Which was unusual. The Goldenhive Prince guessed that Taji already knew everything that was about to be discussed, and knew the outcomes of the resulting debates. The Yellow Jacket Prince was highly intelligent, and served as the Spymaster of the Quaz Xialjyet. He was cunning, but generally cautious. Like all the _Vespidae_ Princes, he was very proud, but Charmy really harbored no ill will towards him, and truly believed they had more in common than either realized. Taji always kept most of his body hidden behind a black silk cloak.

Next to Taji, Prince Kenichi of Yamato took his seat. Kenichi was the largest and fiercest looking of those assembled. He was slightly taller than Taji, and far more heavily built. He wore neither crown nor garments of any type. His body was armor enough, covered as it was by steel-hard organic plates. Charmy had, upon first meeting the Hornet Prince, seen that he was of a vicious sort. He had soon learned that Kenichi was no brute, though he was more likely to operate with a chainsaw instead of a scalpel. His straightforward intellect was matched only by his utter ruthlessness as _Quaz Marat_ (or Prince of Princes).

Lastly sat the thin, almost sickly, black frame of Prince Pierre of the Paper Wasp Hive called Maison. Wearing an elaborate robe and pointed black crown, the Wasp Lord looked at Charmy disdainfully, but this was hardly new. Long before they met, Pierre had developed a feeling of superiority to Charmy. Then again, Prince Pierre felt superior to everyone, though he never outright said so. He preferred barbed words and not-so-subtle jokes. He was a vile little coward, as far as Charmy could see, but his Paper Wasp Hive was essential to the plans of the Quaz Xialjyet, so all (even the mercurial Kenichi and overly sensitive Argent) put up with his self-aggrandizement.

Charmy quickly took his seat, and the meeting began.

"This Twentieth Meeting of the Conclave of the Quaz Xialjyet has begun," Charmy said, with little excitement, but just enough ceremony. He eyed where his father sat silently, and then went back to matters at hand.

"First, let me say that I hope you are all enjoying the hospitality of Goldenhive," Charmy began. "I regret that I never got the chance to meet at either Yamato Hive or Maison. I only wish that, when this Conclave meets again five years from now, my mind is sharp enough to enjoy and remember the sights of your remarkable civilizations."

The Conclave met on a rotating schedule. Truthfully, though he had heard that Maison was an engineering marvel, Charmy had no desire to visit there or the infamous Hornet Hive of Yamato. He simply couldn't find himself trusting his life to the hospitality of Princes Kenichi or Pierre. Then again, it wasn't like any of the other Princes to visit those Hives came back worse for wear. All honored the Alliance of the Quaz Xialjyet, it seemed.

Except, perhaps, the son of the mobian who founded it?

That slice of irony made Charmy's smile become a smirk.

"It is a fine place. Fine," Taji said, nodding his head in approval. "Much larger than I imagined."

"The size of it is… more appropriate than impressive. I suppose with so many drones around, some measure of inelegant scale and crowding is a necessary side effect." Pierre sniffed rudely.

'He's calling Goldenhive a slum?' Charmy thought, angrily. He, too, had his pride as a Prince. Still he reined it in.

"Let us move on to more important matters," Ferric intoned, his voice emotionless and typically monotone.

"Agreed!" Prince Argent added, likely feeling that he had to get at least one word in edgewise.

Charmy's back stiffened. "Very well."

He snapped his fingers, and an attendant, one of several waiting in the periphery of the room, handed him (and all those present) small handheld control panels for the main holoprojector built into the table. Quaz Xialjyet hardware, a mixture of conventional and organic technology, had taken Charmy a little while to readjust to after his return home. The equipment was strange but effective.

He powered up the holosystem, and it immediately produced a three-dimensional map of Angel Island, as it floated serenely over the ocean. Featured prominently on the map were the major topographic landmarks: Mt. Fate, Mt. Thunder, Angel Lake and Azure Lake. In the north sat the verdant and exotic Mushroom Forests, and in the south the harsh desert expanse collectively known as Sandopolis. Tiny Lava Reef in the east contrasted sharply with the vast tracts of fertile grassland in the northeast, central, and northwest parts of the island.

For a moment, the Island looked uninhabited.

Then the system loaded up all the information on habitations and settlements. Echidnapolis was the largest and most obvious addition from its perch in the eastern central part of the island, just off Angel Lake. Smaller, but still quite large, were the metropolises of Hydrocity in the island's east, and Marble Garden City in the northeast. Both sat on the very edge of Angel Island, and were major commercial hubs for traffic on, off, and around the island. Smaller Echidnapolis sponsored cities dotted the land, along with newly built roads and railways. A small underground passage in white marked the old Undertunnel (or Grand Canal) that connected Hydrocity with the central lakes and mountains.

Finally, the hologram displayed the Seven Colonies of the Quaz Xialjyet.

Goldenhive and Silverhive were both in the northwest, among fertile and rich grasslands, but built near the island's rocky edge. Ironhive sat at the northwest edge of the central mountains, called the Ice Cap Zone, near Mount Thunder (the highest peak on the Island). South of Ironhive was Nickelhive, nestled among a stretch of foothills. East of that, deep among the forested mountains, hid the Colony of Maison and the reclusive Paper Wasps. West of Nickelhive, past the aptly named Rocky Hills, were the Colonies of the Hornets and the Yellow Jackets, also built into the island's sloping edges.

So the stage was set.

Kenichi cleared his throat, to get the attention of his peers. "Honored Princes, before we discuss our war plans, we should clear up matters relating to politics."

"Politics?" Prince Mello rolled his eyes. "You mean assassination."

"Yes," Prince Ferric added, in agreement. "What of the covert operations you and Prince Taji have conducted? How go they?"

The Yellow Jacket Prince spoke up then. "Some time ago, we attempted to assassinate the current leader of the dingo Hegemony and place the blame on the echidna. The mission was a failure, in that Stryker managed to survive the bombing with apparently minor injuries, however we are confident that they believe the echidna responsible. Yes they do."

Taji continued, "Though that particular assassination, our most ambitious to date, was admittedly a failure… we have had many successes. Many more successes. The effort has paid dividends, I think. Yes. While we have not been able to foment an actual state of war between the echidna and dingo, we have done much to add to the already notable ire between them. Their public press, their 'newspapers,' bristle with editorials lambasting each other. Especially after we killed that echidna Senator. A very fine thing for us. A fine, fine thing."

"This is not the first time this year you have made use of dingo agents," Charmy commented. "How were you able to secure their cooperation?"

"Cooperation?" Taji asked, a little taken aback by the suggestion. "Oh! I catch your meaning, yes. My Colony has made impressive advances over the last few years in the field of mind-altering drugs. Oh yes. Many advances in that field. It still takes some time to break a subject's will, and… ah... adjust its thought processes and perceptions of reality. But the results are most pleasing. Most effective."

"Do you have any other entertainment planned for us, Taji?" Pierre asked, glibly.

"We are conditioning an operative for a new and rather exciting mission. Oh yes. Very exciting!" Taji exclaimed. "As you may know, the leader of the Albion echidnas: a female named Gala-Na, is paying a visit to Angel Island. With her assassination, we believe, open violence should erupt between the dingo and echidna. Open violence. Very good for us."

Charmy's brows creased as he frowned. "What else?"

"For my part," Kenichi said, when he was sure that Taji had finished. "I can proudly say that our operations have gone off without a hitch. Over the past year, forces under my command have judiciously struck at vulnerable targets: isolated echidna homes, vagrant dingo, and the like. Acquiring dingo and echidna weapons was almost laughably easy, and convincing the two groups that these attacks were the work of their respective old foe was similarly child's play."

"It is a wonder you didn't get caught, Prince Kenichi," Charmy cut in, eyes narrowing in veiled anger. "I suppose you've been rather lucky, as well."

Kenichi obviously misread the source of Charmy's displeasure. "While bold, these operations in no way threatened to compromise the security of the Quaz Xialjyet. As to whether we have skill, luck, of the gods to thank for this… is ultimately irrelevant."

Looking at the Hornet Prince, Charmy could guess that Kenichi had likely been a willing and eager participant in all those murders. The only regret that the Giant Hornet likely had was that he had to commit the murders with a foreign weapon instead of his own hands. Charmy had known of the murders for several months, but had been paralyzed about what to do about them. Leaking information about them would save lives, but could drag the Quaz Xialjyet into a war it wasn't ready for. Which would, in turn, doom Goldenhive.

Even leaving the Alliance wasn't an option.

To do so would bring swift and immediate reprisals from all the other Hives. Except maybe Nickelhive. But two against five? Both would be wiped from the map without question.

"Good Princes," Kenichi said, after a few moments of general silence. As the elected _Quaz Marat_, or Prince of Princes, he had the authority to steer discussion in any way he choose. "Let us review our war plans. And let us discuss the changes to them that will have to be made in light of recent events earlier this year."

They all knew the plans, but the other Princes nodded their heads in collective agreement. More than the fairly foreign and bizarre world of covert warfare, which really had no precedent in the history of the Hives, all were much more comfortable discussing straightforward plans of conquest.

"The Floating Island… Angel Island…" Kenichi motioned grandly to the hologram before them. "Our Island. Ages before the echidna and dingo arrived to despoil the lands of Downunda, millennia before they rose this landmass into the sky, we… The Hive Princes… ruled over our great people. With every spring and summer, we prospered. With every winter, we withered and died. How tastefully ironic that it was those who decimated us, the echidna, who would now give us our chance for glory!"

"The position of the Island now, here, is optimal. The climate is perfect for us. The winters are mild, and the summers perfect. The Island is far from any other major mobian powers, like the Kingdom of Acorn or the surviving humans. The echidna claim all of Angel Island as their own, but three military powers contest the land."

Lines on the map divided it three ways. A slice of the Island, maybe one fifth of it, off to the west, was marked as controlled by the Quaz Xialjyet Alliance. A small patch of land in the barren south was marked as controlled by the dingo. The rest was labeled as under echidna occupation.

"Ourselves. The Dingo. And the Echidna. As we all know, our esteemed fathers planed to expand throughout Angel Island without encountering organized resistance. That was the world of our fathers, my honored Princes." Kenichi let that most important fact seep in. "But it is not our world. Our world has cities of echidna where there had once been only ruins and empty fields. Our world will be a more difficult prize, but one we none-the-less aspire to. Can we as Princes of the Quaz Xialjyet do any less? Over the years since the return of Echidapolis, we have prepared ourselves for this coming conflict."

"I think…" Kenichi noted the looks of approval and agreement from most of his fellow Princes. "I think we have done a job worthy of our titles. Worthy of our fathers' legacies. This war may at times be costly and difficult, but we shall conduct ourselves as Princes, and we shall emerge victorious!"

Even Charmy found himself moved by the short speech, as much as he loathed Kenichi and the coming war in general. The other Hive Princes buzzed loudly with excitement and eagerness. Even stoic Ferric joined in. Charmy did so as well, if only not to show his disapproval with the Quaz Xialjyet so openly. He stole a look at Prince Mello, and hoped that he, too, was faking his enthusiasm. It was difficult to be sure, because while Prince Mello was a good-natured fellow, he still didn't have much of any regard for the Island's other races. Charmy only had it in him because of his time with the Chaotix.

"The first of our enemies, and the first we must dispose of: the remnants of the Dingo Hegemony!" Kenichi pressed a button, and the map highlighted the southern part of Angel Island, known collectively as Sandopolis. "The Dingo command hierarchy exists in primarily two locations: Echidnapols and the ruins in southern Sandopolis… the ruins of Old Dingo City."

The Floating Island had two large-scale ruins on it: those of Old Dingo City and Old Echidnapolis, in the south and north respectively. Some still referred to them as the Twin Cities. Both had come to ruin because of the terrible Carnivore War, almost a thousand years ago. The war, involving almost the entirety of the races on Mobius, eventually turned against the Echidna and their allies. With Echidnapolis surrounded, and besieged by the Dingo and their ilk, one of their leaders unleashed a creature of unimaginable power and destruction: Chaos.

Charmy had heard stories of Perfect Chaos, and the destruction of Station Square.

Perfect Chaos had consumed seven Chaos Emeralds. Yet, the Chaos that destroyed Old Dingo City supposedly channeled the power of fourteen of the gems. The destruction this Ultra Perfect Chaos rained upon Dingo City was absolute, and even the surrounding areas were made into barren desert. While later Echidnapolis, too, had been sacked and burned by the enraged Dingo, now making the ruins of Marble Garden, Old Dingo City's fate had been more dire. To this day, there were stories of restless souls, ghosts, and the walking dead deep in the smashed ruins of Sandopolis.

"General Stryker and his staff operate from their command complex in the Sandopolis ruins," Kenichi continued, bringing Charmy's thoughts back to the present day. "The ruins and the nearby areas, including the southern island coast, are all dingo controlled. Most echidna are… afraid of the place, and hesitant to get anywhere near the ruins, giving the dingo a free hand. We will have to rout the dingo from their complexes, from the ruins, and then the island itself."

"Easier said than done," Prince Ferric interrupted. "While the dingo may appear beaten, they have been able to muster significant military resources. The Battles of Nor'easter and Knothole are proof enough of that."

"No one is denying their military prowess," Kenichi defended.

"They are in the process of emigrating off the island in large numbers for their new homeland in Mercia," Taji then added. "If our goal is to remove them from the island as quickly as possible, and in a thorough manner, then we should pursue a very quick campaign against them, and then follow up with a negotiated settlement. Yes. A settlement to our benefit."

"Negotiate?" Prince argent scoffed. Prince Pierre did the same.

"An unconditional withdrawal from the island in return for an end to hostilities," Taji suggested. "Rout them from their surrounding strongholds quickly, and they will be eager to preserve their strength through a settlement. The alternative is a costly and prolonged desert campaign to take Sandopolis."

"A logistical nightmare," Ferric said, as if anyone had forgot.

"Thank you, IronPrince. For the obvious." Pierre quipped, rudely.

Ferric composure never wavered.

"A quick campaign would be best. Our forces will face the most disadvantages in that sort of environment," Kenichi said, agreeing with Taji (as usual). "We also need that flank open and unexposed to attack. It is not as if we can simply ignore the dingo, lest we find their guns raining fire down on our Hives while we fight in other theatres."

"And what if the Echidna move to help the dingo when you attack?" Charmy asked.

"That would be troublesome. Yes. Troublesome." Taji shook his head.

"The likelihood of that is very low," Kenichi replied.

"The dingo and echidna… working together?" Mello barked out a laugh. "You always did have an imagination, Charms. You've lived among them. You've seen firsthand how much they hate each other."

"Agreed." Pierre interjected. "When we move to attack, both parties will look out only for themselves. No echidna general will send his drones to die for the dingo! We should be fine… Charms."

Charmy snorted angrily. "What Hives will be tasked to lead the attack on the Dingo?"

"The Hornet Hive of Yamato volunteers its warriors for this task," Kenichi said with a grin. "The dingo are formidable foes. If we wish to take them out quickly, we must not hold back our greatest strength. And I say without boasting that the armies of Yamato are the mightiest within the Quaz Xialjyet."

The Hornet Prince's boast made most uncomfortable, but none denied the truth of it. Prince Pierre was the first to speak on the topic. "If you insist, Quaz Marat. By all means, have at them."

"In this task, Yamato wishes to be aided by two other Hives, to insure total and overwhelming force is applied in the wake of our first attacks. Goldenhive. Nickelhive. Will you aid us in this endeavor? Will you lend this offensive your strength?"

Charmy and Mello looked at each other. Both saw it. Goldenhive and Nickelhive were close. Involving them in an attack on the dingo with the Hornets would force them to comply with the war effort, as their armies would be far from their home bases in the north. Any betrayal would, at best, strand the armies in enemy territory.

"A fine idea!" Prince Argent blurted out happily.

He knew that if Goldenhive and Nickelhive went fighting in the south, it would leave the initial defense of the northern territories to Silverhive and Ironhive. Which would in turn, put Prince Argent, as the leader of the larger Hive, in overall command of that theater. Charmy bristled at the thought. Still, to decline would be great insult and loss of face. He had no choice but to acquiesce.

"How many armies would you need to assist you?" Charmy asked.

"Ideally," Kenichi answered, making his terms known. "From each Hive, an Offensive Army to spearhead operations, in addition to both Expeditionary Armies hatched for the outbreak of hostilities."

"Both of them?" Mello asked, with a look of surprise.

"That would leave only one Defensive Army for each of our Hives!" Charmy growled. "And the Reserves, of course. We'd be nearly defenseless against a counterattack!"

"You will have the full might of Silverhive and Nickelhive to hold back the echidna." Kenichi pointed out.

"In addition to The Baq Tak, the Armies of the Yellow Jacket Hive." Taji promised. "Yes. More than enough to push back the echidna. Enough to advance on them, even! Enough to take the city of Echid Salir, I dare say."

"You will be well guarded." Kenichi promised. "Should the offensive fail, however, we will be in dire straights indeed. To this fight, Yamato commits ALL its Armies save the reserves. Ten Armies, a third of our collective forces, will descend on the dingo, and crush them swiftly. By the honor of Yamato, I swear it will be so!"

Charmy did feel a little better campaigning against the dingo instead of the echidna, but not a lot better. The other Princes however, buzzed excitedly again, stirred by Kenichi's words and bluster.

"With a settlement to have the dingo remove themselves wholly from the island, we will also avoid the possible intervention of the Kingdom of Acorn, which is still rebuilding in the aftermath of the Eggman Wars." Prince Ferric smiled, slightly. "Ironhive approves of this course of action."

"Silverhive also approves," Argent said, eagerly.

"As does the Great Colony of Maison," Pierre added.

Taji and Kenichi kept silent. It was obvious what their opinions were. With a sigh, Prince Mello spoke up. "Very well. Nickelhive agrees."

All eyes turned to Charmy.

"Goldenhive… consents to this course of action," he finally said.

"Good." Kenichi's broad smile showed twin rows of razor sharp teeth. "Once the offensive against the dingo is finished, we can push on to Lava Reef and Hydrocity. These are our main objectives in the war, in addition to wiping out the echidna."

"Lava Reef is an uncharted warren of volcanic activity. Must we really expend lives taking it?" Prince Argent whined.

Kenichi looked at Argent with mild annoyance.

"Lest we forget, Honored Princes… somewhere within Lava Reef lays the hidden city of Formicidae. To truly defeat the echidna, we must defeat their benefactors: our distant cousins the Fire Ants." The Hornet Prince slammed his hand down on the table. "They must be crushed. Utterly! That responsibility lies primarily with you, Prince Pierre, and the talented engineers of your Paper Wasp Hive."

"Underground warfare…" Pierre smiled crookedly. "Is the specialty of Maison. We have skirmished with the Fire Ants before. Remove all other distractions, and the full weight of Maison will bring down the walls of Formicadae. I will gladly direct all but our Defensive and Reserve Armies for this task."

"That leaves the rest of us to concentrate on making sure the dingo live up to their treaty, and wiping out the echidna military machine." Kenichi highlighted the expanses of territory controlled by Echidnapolis. "With the dingo beaten and withdrawing, we can push onward to Hydrocity and the settlements and industries east of Echidnapolis. With them occupied, fighting on the western front to reclaim Echid Salir, we will strike from both angles. We will grind them into dust."

"However," Kenichi cautioned. "This is contingent upon weakening the echidna in a first, mortal blow, from which they will not be able to recover in time."

"We have discussed this before," Prince Ferric stated. "How are we to cripple the echidna in a manner that gives us time to take the dingo out of the war?"

"Let us review the forces that will be arrayed against us," Kenichi began, obviously introducing his latest plan. "The Echidnapolis military consists of two branches, the so called Self Defense Forces, under the civilian authority of the Echidnapolis Defense Council, are led by this mobian: Conservator-General Wesson..."

The image of en elderly echidna, brick colored, with a graying beard, appeared.

"And the Echidnapolis Security Agency, under the command of Constable Remington."

Another image appeared: of a lighter red echidna, with a mop of black hair.

"Both are competent commanders, however it is the forces arrayed under Wesson that will cause us the greatest trouble. While the one known as Remington has organized successful tactical and strategic operations on a small level, it is not expected that his 'police' forces will conduct themselves in a manner threatening to our troops on anything more than an individual level. Wesson, on the other hand, not only has command over a formidable and growing military machine, he himself is a keen military mind with a sound grasp of strategy."

Charmy, who knew Remington on a personal level, had to agree with this. While the Constable was not one to be underestimated, he had never thought of things on the scale necessary to fight a war. His troops weren't even considered 'military' by anyone outside the Quaz Xialjyet. The Hives, however, had no notion of the need for a police force, as their workers and soldiers were all mindlessly obedient.

"I have read his book, "_The Means and Methods Inherent to Modern Warfare_," and I believe this is a mobian worthy of the title of Prince. To face both him, and his dingo counterpart General Stryker, in battle…" Kenichi gave a pleased grunt. "It is an honor we should all savor."

"Now!" Kenichi quickly got back to business, and the screen displayed a long scrolling text document. "This is an excerpt from our most up to date collective intelligence reports, all of which were forwarded to you one week ago. This summarizes the extent of the Echidnapolis military, as well as their Order of Battle."

He read from the text.

"Standing army is approximately twelve thousand, with forty three thousand listed as reserves, for a total theoretical army size of fifty five thousand soldiers. Echidnapolis can theoretically field eight full Divisions of troops, each having roughly five thousand five hundred men, including support staff. Each Division comprises four Battalions, which in turn comprise four Regiments, which are made of four Companies. Every Company is further augmented by high-energy field guns and missile batteries, as well as mechanized transport craft."

The screen began displaying pictures of the energy howitzers, towed by half-track vehicles. Another half-track sported modular missile banks attached to the sides. It then showed much larger weapons systems, fully tracked, sporting heavy armor.

"Every Division is also equipped, theoretically, with larger scale Divisional Artillery, of the 80 and 124mm variety, copied from dingo designs. These are all self propelled, as you can see, though not heavily armored. That honor is reserved for the neonate Division Armored Units, divided into Light Armor, Heavy Armor, and (supposedly) Transforming Armor Brigades. Echidnapolis currently operates two main heavy weapons platforms that fill these roles."

The screen changed, and split, showing the two squat tracked vehicles, one notably smaller than the other and sporting a much more petite barrel for its main gun.

"The smaller vehicle is the ACV3-B2, designated as the '_Tobor_' class combat vehicle. This is the echidna military's preferred infantry support platform, and it designed to operate in purely an anti-personnel role. We are unable to verify the power of the main gun, a typical echidna plasma accelerator, but estimate that is it between 100 and 200 megajoules. More obvious on the design is a 20mm automatic grenade launcher, on a remote mount. There also seems to be a modular port on the left for other weapons systems."

"The larger vehicle is the ACV4-D1, designed as the '_Mathias_' class." While Kenichi spoke, Charmy absently wondered how the Guardians felt about their dead ancestors being used to name weapons systems. "The '_Mathias_' class utilizes a much more powerful version of the plasma accelerator used on the 'Tobor.' Again, we have been forced to make estimates to its strength, but believe it to be between 700 and 800 megajoules in output. Echidna press releases boast that the weapon uses a 'conical shaped plasma charge' designed to penetrate heavy armor. Its anti-personnel equipment is limited to a coaxially mounted laser and a standard non-remote machinegun swivel mount near the cupola."

"Lastly, I must bring to your attention: this," Kenichi said, and the screen showed what looked like a fighter plane with legs. "Even before the Battles of Knothole and Nor'easter, which demonstrated the power of the Transforming Armored Vehicle or War Machine, Legion Industries had began experiments on the concept. Despite being owned and operated by the Dark Legion, the Echidnapolis military quickly expressed an interest in their research following the end of the Eggman Wars, and in light of the Prower Dynamics monopoly on Transforming Fighter Technology. While Echidnapolis no doubt hopes to one day become an independent manufacturer of these weapons, it has for the time being placed a high profile order for '_Cyclone_' class War Machines. Already, a squadron of six have been delivered, and are undergoing trial testing prior to integration into the EDF."

"Cyclones…" More than one Prince grumbled warily. The Battles of Knothole and Nor'easter had given the Transforming Fighters an impressive reputation. While the other vehicles in the Echidna arsenal were impressive, all were untested in battle. Cyclones were not.

"Honored Princes. Fellow Princes." Kenichi quickly cut in to squelch the grumbling. "Let us all remember that the Cyclone, while formidable, is not invulnerable. Moreso, the six that the echidna possess do not even have properly trained pilots flying them. More importantly, let us not forget that this is an army built to fight the Eggman, and his Combot Legion."

At this, the room calmed, and Princes nodded.

"This is an army geared for that purpose. But the Legion it was designed to fight no longer exists. It is also a strongly offensive army, ill suited to defending terrain. The echidna further lack the spirit and the strength of resolve to make full use of their technological developments. They are soft and pampered and weak! When their losses begin to mount, they will panic and become desperate. They will flee before us, and abandon their tanks and guns."

"So you think," Charmy countered.

"And… even if they do not, we shall still prevail. We will handily outnumber them, even with their reserve forces called up to fight," Kenichi boasted, proudly. "Their tanks and planes and artillery can and will be countered with our own weapons systems. And with our zeal. We, too, have constructed our own tanks, and our own guns, and our own bombs, and our own mighty weapons of war. There are really only two things we lack. The first is a Navy, but even the echidna possess only a handful of boats on Angel Lake, and the Ocean far below. So our lack of a Navy is not an issue."

"And the other deficiency?" Prince Argent inquired.

"We don't have… this." Kenichi loaded up a new set of images. There were of something large under construction in what appeared to be a drydock by the water. Another was of something similar but it was under construction by the edge of the island. Finally, images of drawings and computer models appeared. More than one Hive Princes shifted uneasily in his seat.

"There are four in all, in varying states of construction," Kenichi explained. "Modeled after the First Eggcarrier and the Flying Battery built by the Eggman, they are designed to be the centerpieces of a new Echidnapolis Air Force that will give it effective power projection onto the continent."

A slowly spinning image of the new airship began to display different statistics. Model Type: _CBH-7_. Command Platform Carrier-Battleship Hybrid. Length: 263.5 meters. Width: 45.7 meters. Height: 77.8 meters. Displacement: 27500 tons. Four Heavy Duty Fusion Nuclear Reactors. Mark Two Predictive Magnetic Pulse Shielding. Three Dual Barreled Plasma Cannons. Nine point defense laser interceptors. Two medium range missile launch bays. A hanger for attached Aircraft and Transforming Armor. Plus, what looked like a unidirectional Ion Canon at the nose. In fact, the whole ship looked like a flying gun.

Charmy licked his lips, and looked around the room. His father was, of course, not totally cognizant of anything that was going on. Kenichi seemed unimpressed, but he had seen the data before. Taji looked chagrined but he, too, probably knew all this already. The other Princes looked either shocked or a little afraid. What they saw before them was smaller and weaker than the newly rebuilt _Nor'easter_ (the former Eggcarrier), but that particular ship was still beached like a whale near Knothole. If these ships took to the air (four of them!) then Echidnapolis could truly make the claim of being the world's foremost military power.

"These four ships… are the most powerful ever designed and built by mobiankind." Kenichi let that sink in. "However, Honored Princes, none of them are complete."

At that, there were relieved sighs.

"Incomplete, but for how long, Ken?" Pierre asked, wiping his brow. "How long before those things take to the sky?"

"I will get to that in a moment, Good Prince." Kenichi took a deep breath. "These massive ships are being built in two places: The Marble Garden Shipyards, far to the east, and the Angel Lake Shipyards, on the eastern edge of Ice Cap Zone. Those located by the lake are the two nearest completion, as those Shipyards are larger and more developed. Princes, I give you those two ships."

A picture of the Shipyard built at the edge of Angel Lake appeared. Numerous ships were under construction in the massive drydock complex, but the two nearly complete hulks that made up the battlecarriers were obvious and visible.

"The one to the south is the _EDS Midnight Prayer_ and the one to the north is its sister ship, the _EDS Manifest Destiny_, for which this class of ship will be named." Kenichi changed the display to the other shipyard. "The northern ship here is called the _EDS Price of Freedom_ and the southern is the _EDS Mostly Harmless_. By our estimates, the _EDS Manifest Destiny_ will be completed and ready for combat operations in one month. The _Midnight Prayer_ will be finished in three months, as will the _Mostly Harmless_. Lastly, the _Price of Freedom _will be able to set sail in six to eight months."

"Troubling news," Taji said, gravely. "Troubling, yes. Very. A ship like that is very strong. Stronger than any of our planned airships. Much, much stronger."

"That the military base near the shipyard is also the base for the Echidnapolis War Machines should be seen as an additional opportunity to rid ourselves of yet more threats to our reconquest." Kenichi grew one of his trademark toothy grins. "But we must strike before the first Battlecarrier can be finished. We must strike at the closest shipyard, where the _EDS Manifest Destiny_ is being fitted for launch. We must strike, and we must strike hard!"

The assembled Princes nodded at this.

"It will be months before they can launch another," Mello said. "Will it be enough time?"

"Even a great ship like that, all alone, will fall to our combined forces." Prince Argent sounded confident. "Four would be an almost insurmountable challenge. Even three would jeopardize our entire war effort. But one or two I think we can handle."

"At this point…" Prince Ferric paused, collecting his thoughts. "We can not turn back. The eggs have been laid; they only await the orders to hatch. We have kept that first generation in stasis for too long already. Every day, in Ironhive, a dozen eggs degenerate and must be destroyed. This attrition will exponentially increase as time goes on. I am sure that this is already occurring in your Hives as well."

The assembled Princes glanced at each other, and knew that it was true.

"We have stockpiled food and water for only six months, once the Eggs are hatched," Ferric continued, still in monotone. "We much begin the process immediately. We must begin raising our armies, and we must finalize a first strike plan of action. In light of the appearance of these ships nearing completion, our hand is forced. We must strike at them, and soon, or loose all hopes for expansion. In which case the Quaz Xialjyet has failed."

Ferric's dull voice belied the seriousness and weight of his words.

The Princes were silent for a full twelve seconds.

"We must strike," Argent said, finally.

"We must strike," Mello agreed, much to Charmy's surprise.

"We must strike." Kenichi added his voice.

"We must strike!" Prince Pierre shook his fist.

"We must strike!" Prince Taji repeated, forcefully.

Charmy was the last. He cupped his hands in front of him, and closed his eyes. "The dictates of the Quaz Xialjyet are absolute and the situation is do or die. Our standing Armies are all ready, and with duty in their hearts they await our orders to march. The Conclave is in agreement. We must… strike."

"Then… in the name of the Quaz Xialjyet…" Kenichi stood up, his fist in the air. "Ice Cap Zone… will be set aflame! And the Reconquest of Angel Island will begin!"

* * *

"What are you going to do?" Saffron asked, softly. Charmy had always loved her voice. He regretted not asking her to sing for him, one last time, before he left. 

"What am I going to do?" Charmy blinked, and paused. She had to know. She had to understand.

"I'm going to do what I have to," he answered. "What I think is right. If I am to be King, let me at least try and keep my principles intact."

With that said, the Prince of Goldenhive, and former Chaotix, left his wife and future Queen. He left the First Nursery behind him, and quickly caught up to Prince Kenichi. The Prince of Hornets towered over Charmy, and both walked side by side up to a higher level of Goldenhive, and finally out to the Grand Chamber. This was the center north of the Hive, near the primary entrances, and it was the largest open space constructed by his people – a three quarters sphere, and two hundred meters in diameter at the widest. Charmy and Kenichi met the other Princes at another balcony, overlooking the Grand Chamber.

Arrayed in that vast open space, like a sea of yellow and black…

Rank after rank of soldiers waited, buzzing softly. They carpeted the chamber floor, and the many enclaves built into the walls. All of them together made a low droning noise: a sound that made it difficult to think, much less be heard. Not that they needed to hear any inspirational speeches, or excuses for why they should fight and die. They were mindless things, like toy soldiers or wind up dolls. And yet, they were family, too.

To Charmy's left, Prince Argent crossed his arms, as if unimpressed. "Pick out a couple thousand, and let's be on our way, will you please?"

Prince Ferric nodded in agreement. "We do not want to miss the rendezvous. Time is of the essence."

Charmy looked down at the assembled warriors of Goldenhive. They were only the beginning. Already, eggs had hatched. Already, drones were maturing, and being placed in their proper caste. Training took only a week or so, and maturation a month and a half. This was only the first in a series of terrible waves destined to wash over Angel Island, and drag it down into the Hell of War.

An attendant, another of the Breeder caste, approached. She wore nothing more than the soldiers below did, her higher caste was only easily discerned by her scentless pheromones. There was a helmet, white in color, a yellow and black organic vest over the torso, and a simple brown belt with a handful of pouches. The helmet, in particular, reminded Charmy is his time in the Chaotix, when he had worn the very same headgear, taken from the royal armory before he ran away.

"My Lord? Your orders?" She asked, her tone perfectly normal. Charmy's kind had no need for displays of loyalty and subservience, like bowing and kowtowing. Every breeder and drone knew their place, and never deviated. Absolute devotion made such showmanship pointless.

"Swarms Thirty Eight, Thirty Nine and Forty," Charmy slowly replied. The attendant inclined her head in acknowledgement, and ran off to gather the nearly two thousand seven hundred soldiers he had so casually made mention of. Charmy felt a clammy coldness in the pit of his stomach.

Angel Island had avoided the final days of the Eggman Wars.

And now, it would know a special brand of chaos.

And he, Prince Charmy, would be there to see it all fall apart.


	14. A New World Order Interlude II

**THE CYCLE OF AGES**

_**A NEW WORLD ORDER**_

**Part 2**

**In peace there's nothing so becomes a man  
As modest stillness and humility;  
But when the blast of war blows in our ears,  
Then imitate the action of the tiger;  
Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood,  
Disguise fair nature with hard-favor'd rage;  
Then lend the eye a terrible aspect.**

**- William Shakespeare  
Henry V (III,i)**

* * *

Angel Island 

3255 MC

The city was dark: the only light came from the crescent moon far above, small slender streetlights and the ever-present Vigilance Drones that swept long searchlights down streets and in alleys. Those, at least, were purely psychological in function. The Drones, called "_Anikis_" or "Big Brothers" could see perfectly well in pitch-blackness, but the fear inducing power of a light from above was too appealing to leave out of their design. Whether you were in the beam or not hardly mattered, but it reminded you that someone from above was watching, and waiting.

It worked.

A single figure walked down the street, holding a slicker around its shoulders to ward off the drizzling rain. A dark blue boot slogged through a shallow puddle, as a searchlight passed by, partially illuminating the echidna's face. The purple eyes and hair were hardly unusual for a female of her breed, and the dark red fur coloring was similarly ambiguous. The white Guardian Crest on her upper chest, partially hidden by a blue vest under the slicker, however, would have stood out to any passers by.

Her name was Lara-Su.

Above her, across a giant billboard, the face of her father stared down sternly at the small subsection of Echidnapolis it overlooked. In the picture, he stood on a red and black colored balcony, one hand over his chest, the other reaching out, as if in the middle of a great lecture. Streamers filled the sky behind him, along with the black and red flag of the Greater Echidnapolis Commonwealth. In the picture he wore his now trademark black bodysuit, with white Guardian Crest over the chest, and long brown coat. Lara recognized the context of the picture, even if there were no words describing the scene.

It commemorated and idealized the "Great Oath" when her father seized power.

Her father: the Last Guardian, Knuckles.

Lara-Su continued on her way, not paying the scene any more mind. For the fifteen years of her life, she had been deluged by the 'Neo-Realist People's Art,' and scenes like what loomed over the street behind her. A similar one was a side shot of her father, in front of the sprawling city of Echidnapolis, with the words "Glory to the Avatar! Architect of the Commonwealth!" Another had an idealized looking father telling his son to 'serve your Mother, your Fatherland, and your Great Leader.' Yet another proudly espoused that 'All true patriots' should know the 'Heroes of the Commonwealth.' Another, newer, poster showed a parade of female mobians, of all sorts, with hands outstretched and locked in chains. Like the majority of Commonwealth posters, there were no words, just powerful symbolism.

A symbolism driving the Commonwealth to war.

Lara-Su shook her head sadly at the thought, and continued on her way. The Last Guardian may be Father of the Commonwealth, but she was no father to her. For most of her life, her mother had told her that her father had died. Looking back, Lara could see how blind she had been to believe her mother's appealing lies. The face of her father had loomed over her for her entire life and she had never made the connection between his crest and hers, or his knuckles and her own.

Her father had been a hero, to hear her mother speak of it, but for most of her life Lara-Su had known very little of her sire. That changed, two years ago to the day. Picking up her pace, Lara remembered feeling a strange attraction to a strange woman she had seen at the market. Heeding some unexplained curiosity or calling, she had followed the other echidna for several hours before gathering the courage to ask her for her name.

To Lara's surprise, the woman had known much about her, including the white crest her mother had always warned her to keep hidden, and the retractable knuckles she kept hidden in public. They met several times after that, before the older echidna explained that she was the assistant of a 'wise man' who know 'much about many things.' Her curiosity piqued, she had finally been given permission to meet this 'wise man' and ask him about her father.

At first, he had merely listened to her, and then dismissed her.

She had tried to use her secret powers, the legacy of her father, to make the cloaked stranger talk, but he had scoffed and rebuffed her with a gesture. Lara had been devastated for some time, before a letter summoning her arrived on the door to the family house. She had come as asked, hoping for answers, and instead ended up thrown into the past. The only warning she'd had was that her father's name was 'now that of the Commonwealth's Avatar.' The implication connected the dots that Lara-Su had long subconsciously never wanted to make sense of.

Her father was Knuckles – her father was the Avatar of the Commonwealth, the leader of the Dark Legion. And suddenly she was given the opportunity to change that future. Lara never questioned the ethics of changing history, or concerned herself with any resulting time paradoxes. She simply acted, and tried to save her father and mother, and while it had seemed that her father had died by Remington's hand, on her return to the future she had been told the truth.

Knuckles had survived.

She had been sent in the past to save her mother. She had been sent back because she was destined to do so, and she was destined to act as she did. Returning home, bitter and angry, she finally confronted her mother with what she knew. Lara's mother had admitted to everything and confirmed that her father was, indeed, the tyrant of Angel Island, and the Dark Legion's Lord. Days later, Lara had searched out the other echidna and the wise man, and found nothing.

Only recently, more than a year later, did she once again receive a summons.

Lara had debated whether to answer it or not. In the end, her own damnable impulsiveness and curiosity had gotten the better of her, as the wise man and his assistant likely knew it would. Lara paused at a nearby street sign, and looked down into the alley on her right, making sure that she was the right place at the right time. Walking into the alley she was a small wooden door to the left. Testing the handle, she found it unlocked, and slowly opened it.

Before her stretched a small flight of steps down, and another door lit by a small white light above it. Going down the steps and approaching the door, she grasped the handle, and found it warm to the touch. It opened inwards, and Lara entered a small blank room. There were no other doors. The only thing to stand out was a plain wooden chair.

It was just like before.

Lara closed the door behind her, and sat down, crossing her arms under her chest. She only had to wait for a minute, before the door she entered through opened. An older looking echidna stepped over the threshold. It was the assistant, and she appeared just like before: wearing a blue cloak that hid her body, except for her face and black boots. Like Lara, she had purple hair and red fur, but her eyes were concealed behind tinted reading glasses. And, while she had entered the same was as Lara…

There were no stairs behind her.

"We knew you would come," she said, with a knowing smile. "But you're late."

"No… I'm right on time," Lara responded, standing up and following the other echidna through the doorway. "Midnight. That's what the note said."

The other female seemed ready to say something, but settled for nodding her head shallowly. They walked through a white walled hall, and into a great open space. Lara knew, somehow, that they were no longer in Echidnapolis. Perhaps no longer on Mobius. Lara-Su looked up and squinted her eyes, trying to see the ceiling of the great hall.

She couldn't.

It seemed to stretch on for infinity, and was hundreds of feet high at the least, before the top just vanished into darkness. Strange runes adorned the walls, which seemed to be cut stone, and Lara saw odd shapes placed within the walls, shrouded by shadow. The hall branched, and they took the middle way. Lara had come this way before, but never ceased to be awed by it all.

At the end of the middle passage, a magnificent arch, two stories high at least, was crowned by a trio of strange masks, each at least Lara's height in size. Here, the older echidna stopped, and stepped to the side.

"He has been waiting for some time for this…" The other woman said, and then added, "I hope you are prepared for what is to come."

"Another trip into the past?" Lara-Su smirked. "No problem!"

As Lara walked into the next room, the other female shook her head, and with surprising strength closed the massive doors. The room inside was dark, doubly so once the doors were closed ad Lara was sealed within. The walls all seemed to be far away, with specks of bright little lights in the distance. It was, Lara supposed, like looking out into space. The floor at her feet even seemed to become transparent, as stars flickered far below her feet. Still, it was solid, and she continued walking.

It was difficult to say how far or how long she walked to approach the center of the strange room. There was no effective perspective, and sometimes it seemed like she was walking but never getting anywhere. Then she saw it: a shape ahead of her, standing out against the stars.

She didn't bother to call out to him.

Picking up her pace, the figure ahead of her began to become more defined. He, too, wore a cloak, but it was darker than the one his assistant wore. He seemed to be wearing a rosary around his neck of gold hued beads, which glittered and sparkled eerily in the poor lighting. His gloves were white, and looked like fine silk. She could not see his feet. Close up, he was not as imposing as she always expected him to be. He was taller and wider than she was, yes, but not by a vast margin. She had seen bigger males her own age, though none were echidna. He inclined his head at her in greeting, and Lara could see his eyes.

Each one a different shade.

The one on his left was midnight blue, and the one on his right a very light pale blue. She suspected he was blind in that eye, or that it was artificial. Either way, there was something strange and off-putting about it. Before her own eyes, she could swear that she saw it hollow out and glow from time to time.

"Welcome," he said, in a tenor voice. "I am pleased you answered my summons."

"It is an honor to see you again, Elder." Lara gave him a customary bow in the female fashion, with her hands over her collar. It was difficult to tell how old this 'wise man' was, or how she should address him, so she defaulted to the respectful honorific given to echidna Elders. Plus, he always seemed to smile at being called 'Elder' so she figured he approved.

"It is a pleasure to see you again, Lara," he replied, with unusual familiarity. "I have brought you here to once more give you the opportunity to taste the past."

"Does this involve my father, my future… or am I once again simply doing what has already been done?" Lara asked, still a little angry.

"You could have done any number of things in the past, Lara," the wise man answered. "However, as I know you… I know what you will do. Remember this. Remember that you have free will, and you can change the future. However… you will not. Because then you would not have been sent back into the past in the first place. This is the wisdom, the power, and the paradox that come from an understanding beyond four dimensions."

"I don't understand…" Lara started to say, but held her voice when her host raised a gloved hand.

"And that… is why I picked you in the first place." Another small mysterious smile crossed his face. "If you choose, I will to send you to the time when your father became what he is now. This is what you wanted from the beginning, isn't it? To save your father from his fate?"

"I can… I can save him? Really?" Lara's eyes widened, and she stared at her benefactor with open admiration. "But what about the timeline? What if…? I don't know if…"

Lara made a small fist, and looked away.

"I mean…" She composed herself, knowing that the wise man had to know what he was doing. She could never think of a variable he hadn't already considered. "Thank you, Elder. Thank you for this. But why now? Why wait so long?"

His answer was typically enigmatic. "Because I felt it necessary, of course."

"I see." Lara didn't, but they both smiled.

"You will know where you are, and you will know what to do," he said solemnly. "I have absolute faith and trust in you, Lara."

The wise man then reached up, and pulled back his cloak, letting Lara see his face in full for the first time. He was a fox with dark orange fur, she could see immediately. Three long bangs fell over his face, partially obscuring his left eye. He looked only middle aged, if that.

"When you are ready to return… to your world. Seek me out."

Those were the last words Lara heard.

In that instant, his right eye flashed, and the universe became a sea of white.

Moments later, within the room, where there had been two there was now one. The stars in the walls glowed hotly for a few seconds before dying down, and returning to pinpricks of light. The fox took a few steps, and opened the room's great doors. His assistant was waiting, and at the sight of him, she too pulled back her cloak, long violet hair streaming down her shoulders and face. Reaching up, she quickly swept it back, and tied it in place so it fell down her back.

"Just like that," she commented, eyes half lidded behind her glasses.

"Just like that," he replied.

"She was late, you know…" The female lowered her arms, finished with her hair. "Five minutes late."

"She got here when she got here. That you arrived at a different time has no affect on the outcome, which is and must always be… the same." The fox walked past her, and she followed him.

"You know, Miles… you really should have sent her a few more months into the past. I'd love to have seen you as a sex crazed teenager." The echidna female laughed softly, one hand over her mouth.

"Foolishness."

"Oh, come now. Maybe then you'd have ended up in my bed, instead of Ro…" The female paused, as she felt his displeasure hit her mind like a hammer. "Instead of that rabbit girl, Cream's."

"Amanda…" Miles' displeasure drained away, replaced with a bitter tasting pallet of emotions. "You'd just have been another mistake, like she was. And you'd have ended the same way she did, if not worse."

"Yes, yes… that's more the Miles I know: dour and aloof. Maybe she'll change the past, and you'll end up with a sense of humor and excitement, hmm?"

"I wouldn't wager on it." He then added. "But it is possible, if unlikely."

"Miles…"

"What are you going to do now, Lara?" The kitsune fox interrupted her before she could say anything more on the subject. "With this done, you no longer need serve me. 'I have returned you to your future.'"

"It took long enough!" Lara reached up to her collar and pulled it down, revealing both the white crescent crest of the Guardian above the swell of her breasts, and a glittering crimson gem almost invisible against her red fur.

"Now, now… don't complain." Miles chuckled. "After all, you had the honor of being the First of my Templar. And now, with things having come full circle, you can do as you wish without concern for it being scripted by the dictates of time and fate. How many would give everything for what I have given you? I have made you into one of this world's most powerful beings… if not the most powerful, save myself."

"I suppose you have." Lara-Su, daughter of the Last Guardian, raised her right hand and flexed her fingers, knuckles cracking. Swirling purple energy danced around her fingertips, into the palm of her hand, and down her wrist. Her smile slowly grew, revealing teeth.

"I think…" She finally said. "I think I'll pay a little visit to _Daddy dearest_…"

* * *

Location: UNKNOWN 

3238 MC

Merlin's eyes opened. "What's this…?"

He closed his eyes, and extended his mind and senses a thousand fold. It took only a few seconds to locate the source of the disturbance, ad the identity of the anomaly. His brows creased, as he considered what it meant.

"Her again…"

'She arrived riding a wave of energy,' another voice spoke up. '_MY energy_.'

"As she did before. But something is different now." Merlin sighed. "She will draw the attention of the Enemy. Already, the Devourer will have cast his gaze upon her."

'The time is approaching?'

"The Time is Now." Merlin opened his palm; revealing a single midnight blue eye. "You must assume form."

Merlin stood, and around him the world assumed solidity, forming into the small cabin that Miles had visited in his dream, before his 'death.' Without another word, the ancient fox and Destroyer left the unassuming sanctuary, moving purposefully towards the woods. His stride slowed, as he approached a small babbling brook.

'Here.' The small voice said. 'Here.'

Merlin held out his hand, and tilted it.

'Here!'

The eye fell into the shallow water.

Merlin stepped back, nodded once, and turned to leave. Behind him, a black and brown hand emerged from the stream. Flakes of mud and silt dried as they encountered the air, and fell away, revealing dark orange fur. The fingers on the hand flexed and moved, as more and more began to grow from the ground, mud becoming flesh and water blood. The stream started to shrink and dry up, and a howl shattered the morning calm, sending a flight of birds into the air.

Merlin heard the cry, but kept walking, a fanged grin on his face.

"The avalanche has begun…"

* * *

Amanda Rabbit had the distinction and honor of one of, if not the, most interesting posting in the Kingdom of Acorn. She suspected it had something to do with her injury, and her relation to her better-known sister: Bunnie 'Rabbot.' Whether those higher up thought it was an honor or not, Amanda would have preferred a nice long leave of absence. 

She had personal pursuits that she felt more important.

But one did not become a Freedom Fighter for personal reasons alone, and if she had a seven-week tour to guard one of the state's most important investments, she would see it through. Amanda walked down one of the former Eggcarrier's many, many halls. The ship, renamed the _HMS Nor'easter_ (Miles sure had some strange obsession for naming things after weather- she smiled, imagining him naming the ship _El Nino_), had taken damage during the Battle of Knothole but had executed a successful emergency landing.

Since the battle, it had become contested ground between the Kingdom of Acorn and the Terran Protectorate, who had done the majority of the work fixing it up after the Eggman had abandoned it. Both groups had sent teams to fix the damage done, with the expectation that their respective government would gain control of it. Amanda thought the whole situation was a disaster waiting to happen.

Along her patrol route, she crossed paths with one of the Terran Security personnel. He was an overlander, and so he towered over her by a fair margin, but Amanda had ran into this particular fellow before, and nodded to him in greeting. He did the same, and they walked past one another without incident. Over her six weeks here, Amanda had learned which of the human staff were cordial to their mobian counterparts, and which were openly hostile.

Sadly, there was more hostility than cordiality from both sides.

A powder keg, if ever she had seen one. The first week she'd been stationed in the ship, there had still been dingo around, and they had served as intermediaries of sorts between the humans and mobians. For some reason, the overlanders and the like had been more accepting of the dingo and other canines. Then the dingo had packed up and left, and things had slowly gone downhill. Fights were hardly unknown, with one every three or four days at least.

Amanda had been lucky enough not to have gotten involved in one.

Aside from being big, humans were (to her) more than a little mean looking. Some gave the impression of being willing to bite off an ear while wrenching an arm out of its socket. When the shit hit the fan, and the two sides finally went at it with guns and knives, and not just fists (which she was sure would happen eventually), she'd just be happy to be somewhere else.

Amanda stopped near one of the schematic maps posted helpfully on the wall at intersections. She had walked her patrol route many times, but she had no desire to get complacent and make a wrong turn into one of the human habituated areas. Her patrol was a particularly important one, because it circled around one of the three Engineering Sections on the ship. And the one part of the ship no one wanted to risk getting damaged was the invaluable Chaos Drive… the retrofitted power core incorporating one of the Super Emeralds that allowed the behemoth of a ship to take to the air.

Miles built it, and no one wanted to risk having to fix it themselves.

Amanda thought about Him, and fiddled with the Purple Cross on her dress uniform. It was pinned in place next to her Distinguished Service Cross, Bronze Star, Soldier's Cross, Overseas Service Medal (with Overland Bars), and her new Knothole Defense Medal. She sheer amount of accomplishment, and the impression it tended to give others, made her blush a bit. She had served Overseas in Overland, but had not done any fighting. Real veterans of fighting in Overland,w hat few were still alive, deserved their medal (which had oak leaves), but she got hers by virtue of simply surviving. The DSC she had gotten because of her delaying actions in the Battle of Knothole, and the Bronze had come from a previous campaign against the Eggman in the west.

It all seemed like a lot… but she didn't think of it that way.

She had just been a bit player in the big scheme of things. She knew it, and was comfortable with it. It disturbed her when others treated her differently because of the gold and silver and bronze on her chest. She didn't even like fighting… in fact, she hated it. But she hated death even more, and if fighting meant that lives would be saved, she had long since resolved herself to that necessary task.

Now, all that was in the past.

The Eggman was dead, and the world was at peace.

"There's no more reason to fight…" She whispered, still fingering the Purple Cross. "Neither of us will have to fight ever again… Miles…"

Just then, something fast scurried by in the corner of her peripheral vision, and she turned quickly, rifle raised and ready. Light brown eyes searched the intersection, and down the hall to her right. She didn't flick off the safety, but kept her finger on it, just in case.

"Hello?" Amanda called, advancing down the hall. "Hello?"

What she had seen was definitely too small to be human or overlander. In fact, it was too small to even be a mobian. Her first thought then turned to it being a really big rat or mouse. Which was also odd: the ship was immaculately clean, for the most part. The old un-renovated parts of the ship were pretty much sealed off. She had never seen a rat in the ship, nor heard of one from anyone else.

She made sharp clicking noises with her tongue and front teeth, trying to lure the creature out. If it was a rat, she wouldn't bother shooting it, but it would be something to include in her report when she finished her patrol. It could imply that parts of the ship have unsanitary conditions.

"Come out… come on…" Amanda made more of the imitation-mouse noises. "Come on, fella."

Looking around a corner, she saw a sliding door only partially closed. There was a crack in it more than large enough for a rat to squeeze into. Looking up at the door's label, she sighed.

"A bathroom… great. At least no one's in there…" She peeked into the unlit room, nudged open the sliding metal door, and stepped warily inside. At the change in pressure, the room's lights obediently activated, bathing her in a warm glow. The bathroom had been installed by the humans (who had probably converted it from a Combot storage bay), and was relatively Spartan. There were several stalls, all separated by high walls, and a few metal sinks. Like all the bathrooms on the ship, it was unisex, and built to human sizes and proportions (much to the annoyance of the mobians on board).

"You in here?" Amanda made the noises again. "I won't hurt you. Come on out."

She paused, and listened, her large ears twitching.

Amanda then laughed, at herself. "Listen to me. Trying to talk an animal out into the open…"

A second later, she heard the sound of something scurrying. It didn't sound like a four footed rat, which only made Amanda more eager to find out just what she was dealing with. Her finger was still in the safety, really to flip it back into the off position. If it was some kind of giant mutant cockroach…

Then it'd get a face full of full auto.

Amanda went past three stalls, and stopped at the fourth one. Nudging it open, she looked around, ducking to get a peek behind the toilet. Nothing. She stood up, and was about to turn around and leave, when she heard a voice.

"I knew you would come…"

It was a deep voice, and she assumed it was some human playing a prank on her. She put on a frown, and turned around. "Now look here…"

Any words after that were cut off by a gasp.

Sitting next to one of the sink faucets was a strange little creature, unlike anything Amanda had ever seen before. Sitting next to one of the sink faucets was a strange little creature, unlike anything Amanda had ever seen before. It was light blue in color, with yellow highlights at the ends of the feet and arms and the top of the head, and was teardrop-like in shape. Two of what Amanda assumed to be eyes stared at her blankly – there were no pupils, only dark blue in a halo of white. The creature looked surreal and doll-like.

Only a second later did Amanda realize that it also had no mouth.

"Yes. I know you would come…" The deep voice resonated in the room and Amanda fell back against the wall of the bathroom stall.

"What… what are you…?" Amanda shakily raised her rifle and pointed it at the bizarre creature. "What the hell are you?"

"I am a child of Chaos. In times long forgotten, in the tongue of a dead race, my kind was called the Chao." The little creature cocked its head, and rose to its feet. "For weeks, I have listened to your desires… I have drunk the cup of your dreams. I have seen into your heart. And I know what you want more than anything in the world."

"Stay back… stay away…" Amanda flipped off the safety. "Don't come near me!"

"Be at ease, my friend." The voice became soft, and kind, despite its deepness. "I have shown myself to you… to help you… to aid you…"

"To aid me?" Amanda asked, not lowering her weapon. "What do you mean? What are you talking about?"

The Chao's blank blue eyes caught a glint of light.

"Tailsss," it said, with a bit of a hiss. "Milesss."

Amanda's eyes widened a bit.

"You… want him…" The Chaos cooed darkly. "Yes. I alone can help you find him."

"He's dead!" Amanda choked out, angry and sad and ashamed all at once. "He's dead… dead…"

The Chao laughed, and slithered forward in an anguine fashion. "Dead… and yet not dead. Living… but not alive. He is like I. Beyond such definition. He IS or he IS NOT."

Amanda felt her breath stop at the intensity and power of the Voice.

"And at the moment…" The voice calmed, and returned to what passed for normal. "He… IS."

"M… Miles…" Amanda felt a tear roll down her cheek.

"We can find him… together."

"Together?"

"Together…" The Voice seemed to come from every angle. "Together. Together."

"Together," Amanda repeated, slowly smiling. "Together!"

Amanda put down the rifle, and reached out, picking up the little Chao. It was surprisingly light, almost ethereal, but warm. Very warm. She stood, and looked at herself in the mirror, holding the Chao. She didn't notice the strange look in her eyes, and she didn't hear the alien chanting of the creature in her grasp. All she saw was herself finding Miles, lost and injured in some distant country. In her vision, he saw her coming, and smiled warmly as she ran into his arms. Like the dreams she had had for all her life. They would be together, and they would be happy.

Amanda grinned.

"He is hidden." The Chao hissed.

"We will find him," Amanda replied, still smiling.

"There may be those who stand in our way…" it then said.

"Those who…" Amanda wavered. "We will find him. We will."

"I promise we will." The Chaos growled, seemingly a little upset at something. Amanda pulled it up to her chest and held it like a baby. Gently, she stroked its texture less head. Still smiling, she bent over and picked up her rifle.

Two hours later, Amanda Rabbit left her post in the _Nor'easter_.

And disappeared.

* * *

"That is all, Honorable Ephor. I hope this information will serve you in the future." 

"Your hard work in this matter is appreciated. You have my gratitude."

"Then I shall head out tomorrow to resume my duties." A black furred kitsune bowed deeply, before turning and leaving the large hut. Tempest Se' Taima Na' Vidar, Ephor Anthal of his Clan, sat cross-legged before the fire and watched him go. He closed his eyes, deep in thought.

'Strange news indeed,' he thought to himself. 'Very strange.'

He opened one eye as the flap to the hut was pushed aside, and Chara stepped inside, ostensibly to take out or refresh the tea and remove the picked bones that had once been part of a deer. Instead, she sat down and helped herself to a cup of the biter tea, downing it with one gulp. Tempest watched her with mild annoyance, especially after she took a refill, and downed it too, a little more slowly. Kitsune ceremonial tea was strongly alcoholic, and for this meeting Tempest had ordered a fine vintage taken out of storage, but he let her indulge herself.

It was probably some remnant of his father.

He had always given into Chara's whims and wishes.

"Enjoying the tea, are you?" Tempest finally asked.

Chara leaned back against the wall of the hut and sighed. "Males get all the best drinks, I find. Regular _Kalvra_ Tea can't hold a fang or claw to this Ceremonial Stuff."

"And that's why they're ceremonial," Tempest quipped.

"So: what's the bad news?" Chara asked. "Don't be surprised. You look unusually intense. It must've been something … interesting."

"You want to know?" Tempest closed his eyes and massaged his temples. "Very well. Tukaido is up to something."

"That's hardly unusual," Chara replied. "Thandothane is always up to something. What is it this time? Is he trying to woo the Turo again? Or play around with the Kalahen?"

"Tukaido… is up to something in the lands of the Jel'Arah," Tempest said, somberly. "And Tae-Uhl is keeping quiet about it."

"It isn't like Tae-Uhl to do anything, much less anything involving the Tukaido. From what I remember of him, Tae wouldn't have the moon set before morning if he could help it. He hates change."

"This is true! Very true!" Tempest shook his head. "I had heard that there were overlanders and humans in the lands of Jel'Arah when I first arrived. You remember hearing of that, of course?"

"I recall," Chara affirmed.

"Apparently this is still the case. And recently we have had more than a few Tukaido moving east, through our lands, to those of Jel'Arah. It seems that they would rather we know of it than the Turo do, yet they make pains to avoid any of the major settlements on their trips."

"Young males Questing, probably," Chara said with a little smile. "Looking for adventure and females. I'd expect that from Dae'th'ai, but not Tukaido."

"Yes. Tukaido males that go abroad usually prefer to act as advisors and the like. But we never get migrations like this. And they travel in groups! What could be going on out there?"

"A mass mating between Tukaido and Jel'Arah?" Chara then guessed.

"If that were the case then there would be an equal exchange, males and females, through our land." Tempest shook his head sadly. "No. It is something sinister; I can feel it in my bones. I can feel it resonate with the memories of my father and grandfather. Jel'Arah, Tukaido, and the humans. This is strange. And I fear it does not bode well for Clan Vidar. Or possibly the Southerners."

Chara scoffed at that. "Who cares what happens to Southern 'Tah?"

"I care…" Tempest replied, voice just above a whisper. Chara looked at him with wide eyes, as if expecting him to laugh and admit he was joking in poor taste. When he didn't, when she realized he wasn't going to retract what he had said she frowned and poured herself another cup of the bitter ceremonial tea.

For a while, neither sibling spoke.

"You're lucky you're so strong," Chara finally said. "You don't have to be afraid of saying something crazy like that. You're… you're the strongest male I know."

"I am Ephor Anthal," Tempest boasted.

Chara looked at him in a way Tempest couldn't quite interpret. "That's not what I meant."

Tempest's ears folded back. "What did you mean then?"

"Feh!" Chara brushed the conversation off in typical kitsune fashion. "I didn't mean anything. It was probably just the tea."

She quickly collected the cups and the porcelain flask of Ceremonial tea and put then on the serving plate. She then gathered the bones from the meal Tempest and his associate had eaten and put them in a wicker basket. With a small bow, she backed out and was about to leave, when she stopped.

"You know," she said, not looking over her shoulder. "If you're so curious about it, maybe you should just head over there and see for yourself. Ask Tae-Uhl to his face what he's hiding. You'll get an answer from him before you do one from Thandothane. And… while you're in their land, maybe you can visit that female you slept with last time. I never got her name, but from her smell I can guess you took a liking to her."

Tempest crossed his arms. "Kae'Arah Se' Naza Na' Jel'Arah."

"Are you… Thinking about her?" Chara asked, using the kitsune vernacular.

Tempest didn't respond for a few seconds.

"No."

Tempest couldn't see Chara's face. "Too bad."

And then she left.

Tempest's ice blue eyes watched her go, and he heard her walk away. Only when she was gone, really gone, did he stand up and walk over to a sealed chest propped up against the wall. Opening it, he reached in, a little hesitant, and took out a small handheld communicator. Sally had given it to him before he left, and forced him to promise that he would keep in touch with her.

Holding it in his hands he looked down at its blank screen.

"Damn it…" He cursed softly, and gently put it back in the chest. Closing the lid, he kept his hand on the top, as if holding whatever was in inside from getting out. He may have stayed in that position for some time, but the sound of approaching feet made him turn and look to the hut's entrance.

"Ephor! News from the southlands!" One of his attendants said from outside. "News from the Floating Island!"

"Eh?" Tempest quickly stepped out and faced his lieutenant, an unremarkable tan colored kitsune with a scar over his upper lip. "What news is this?"

The other kitsune told him.

Tempest's eyebrows raised more than a little. "Interesting…"

"Ephor?" The other kitsune queried, expecting some sort of order.

"This is none of our affair. Let it burn itself out." Tempest dismissed the other kitsune, but silently questioned his own assessment of the situation. This news was more important than any of the Ephor Anthal's would give it credit for.

So:

Angel Island was now At War.

* * *

The land at the border between Rocky Hill and Sandopolis was halfway livable. Just like in the desert regions of the Island, the nights were cold and the days hot, but the effect was diminished. During the day, a cool wind blew down from the nearby Ice Cap Zone, refreshing wary animals and plants alike. All in all, it wasn't a bad duty assignment, given that most dingo ended up in the deep desert. 

Sergeant Goerdeler blew a long trail of smoke into the twilight air.

The sun was setting behind him, and the whole area was lit up in a dim glow. To the north, the mountains loomed protectively, and to the west a vast expanse of hills and grasslands looked verdant and appealing. He didn't bother looking to the east, at the trackless dunes of Sandopolis. For the moment the Dingo were entombed there, but soon they would have all the living space and rich farmland they could want. Of course, it would be off island, but beggars couldn't be choosers.

Goerdeler rolled a bit of the tobacco smoke around in his mouth, before blowing it out. He had to be careful and savor this last cigarette. Not only were the little things expensive, but also they weren't exactly easy to come by in a far off duty station like this one. He then looked behind him, at the radio tower he was tasked to guard. It stood about a hundred feet tall, and was one of three in what had been designated the _Wesserburg_ Area of Sandopolis. Around it, a sturdy chain link fence coiled protectively. A small yellow sign served as a reminder that touching said fence was a bad idea, unless one liked the idea of ten thousand volts blasting through one's body. A small barracks was thoughtfully built into the brick and concrete foundation of the tower.

The defenses were somewhat light…

But that was to be expected, in the far end of nowhere. The closest town was an echidna outpost settlement to the west, called Echid Corodinir. It was from a trader there that one of the privates in Goerdeler's platoon had purchased two packets of overlander cigarettes. The weed was native to overland, and the humans had a monopoly on the production of the drug. At least for the moment. Goerdeler had heard that there were some enterprising dingo farmers in the New Territories trying to cultivate it. The dingo sergeant smiled at the thought. If things worked out for 'em, he was thinking of giving it a try, too, when his term of service cycled out and he resettled with the wife and kids.

Taking one last puff, before flicking the cigarette butt to the ground and stomping it out, Goerdeler headed back to base. He only got halfway there when he saw one of the two privates on guard duty at the door point at something. Another one ran out of the barracks having heard the commotion. Goerdeler looked over his shoulder, expecting to see one of the other two squads in their under strength Platoon returning from patrol, their ATVs kicking up dust.

What they saw were a trio of shapes, walking in their direction.

Goerdeler narrowed his eyes, and tried to get a clearer look at them, but it wasn't easy in the rapidly descending darkness. The sergeant shrugged, and motioned four of the privates to fall in next to him, and investigate. All three flicked safeties off, and headed to meet these three newcomers. He then ordered the rest of the squad to stations, and the other four dingo inside took up positions behind the fence.

As they got closer, two of the newcomers stopped, while a third kept walking. Goerdeler quickly figured that their leader wanted to talk. That was fine by the sergeant. It was possible they were collection agents here to take care of some overeager private's debt in town. If that was the case, Goerdeler would send them on their way with an assurance that whomever had accrued the unpaid debt would be punished and the debt paid by the Hegemony. And if it was some sort of gambling debt, then the punishment would be even more severe: probably ten to twenty lashes instead of five to ten.

"Ho!" Goerdeler called in greeting. "Who goes there? Identify yourself!"

The shadow figure seemed to be wearing a ragged black traveling cloak. The face wasn't immediately visible, but something seemed unusual about it. Goerdeler did see that their guests were thin, and obviously not carrying any significant weaponry. It made him relax a bit. Whoever they were, they were either unarmed, or using only sidearms.

"Alright now! That's far enough… identify yourself!" Goerdeler yelled, more forcefully this time. The approaching stranger paused, just a handful of yards away.

"That's better. Now…"

It was then, in mid-sentence, that the newcomer exploded forward. The cloak around his shoulders tore apart, as wings began to beat fast enough to mimic the sound of a machinegun. Surprised, Goerdeler and one of the private still acted as their military training demanded, and instinctively opened fire. Two of the others joined in a second later. The creature spasmed as 6.17 mm full metal jacket bullets tore into its body and punched holes in its torso. It continued forward on momentum alone for a few feet, before crashing into the ground…

And exploding.

Goerdeler felt himself go momentarily airborne from the force of the blast, and his vision go black. The pain of his back hitting the ground brought him back, but the sharp pain in his right arm was anything but a good sign. Then again: if he could feel it, then at least he wasn't paralyzed. He also heard sporadic gunfire, and the sound of another explosion.

"Suicide bombers…" Goerdeler half smiled, half coughed, and a trickle of blood inched down his chin. "Damn it all… MEDIC!"

Straining his neck, he looked back at the radar tower. It was intact, but one of their guests had blown himself up at the edge of the fence. There was twisted metal everywhere. Then, he heard the buzzing. Looking in the direction of the Rocky Hills, Goerdeler could just barely make out flying shapes. A dozen of them at least.

Heading in their direction.

"Oh…Great…" He reached for his side with his good arm and took out his ACS-112 gasdynamic laser pistol. Seconds later, the dark flying shapes descended, and the twilight calm was rocked by the sound of explosions.

* * *

"I don't like being away from My Ship."

"That much is obvious." Mya Florentine ran the handheld scanner past her sister's face, and wrote a few readings down on her clipboard. Elsewhere in the medical ward, the process was being repeated on a dozen other women.

"And I don't like being out of uniform."

"Obvious."

"And I don't like going around unarmed."

"Obvious."

"And I really don't like being away from my ship. Especially with it crawling with Mobians."

"Obvious."

"Are you even listening?"

"Obvious… llly I am." Mya sighed, and put the scanner down. She gave her sister a stern look. "Now just relax. You'll be back on your ship in no time."

"Don't take it so lightly, Mya! That ship, and the ones we're building, are going to be the centerpiece of our defense for the next ten years!" Aya frowned at her sister's lack of appreciation for the Fleet. And she frowned at the flimsy white medical raiment she had been forced to wear for the tests. Mya, Aya's twin sister, was similar to her in looks alone. While Aya had been eagerly groomed for a career in the military, Mya had always had her head in research. Both had vied for their father's attention in their youth before he had been killed in an accident onboard the ARK.

Aya had won that little battle, at least. Then again, it was generally easier to advance in a military career in GUN than it was for Mya to publish her papers and advance in her chosen career. The two had a fierce rivalry, but Aya thought of it as only a professional difference of perspective, and not something personal.

"The Fleet?" Mya laughed a little at the notion, while she prepared a small syringe.

"What else but the Fleet?" Aya countered, a little hotly. "We don't have enough men… or women… to plan our defense around a conventional Army. That leaves the Fleet as our one possible advantage over the Furries."

Mya have her sister a sly look, but didn't contradict her. "You're probably right."

"The interests of the Fleet… that's the only reason I'm going on this little trip. If the kitsune really are willing to negotiate, and sell us metals and materials mined in the north, it'll help the Fleet and it'll give us more leverage in forcing the mobians to accept our claims on the _Nor'easter_."

"Still calling it that?" Mya asked, as she tapped the syringe, and squirted a little liquid to get rid of any air bubbles. "What happened to the original name? Wasn't it going to be called the _TFS Necromancer_?"

"Mastermind wanted to call it that." Aya huffed. "He also referred to the ship as a 'he.'"

"So?"

"No ship is a he! Ships are always referred to as female!" Aya said this as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. Mya just took her wrist, and gave her sister the injection. Aya hardly seemed to notice.

"So?" Mya asked again.

"So… with all due respect, Mastermind doesn't know a whole lot about the Fleet or about naval Tradition. The three original names for the ship, once it was rebuilt and re-christened, were the _TFS Invincible_ (if the ship was classified as a battleship), the _TFS Prometheus_ (if it was classified as a carrier), or the _TFS Emancipator_ (if it was a new class of ship). Since the ship's shielding and armoring were upgraded to withstand comparable power to the main armament, then the…"

Mya tuned out her sister's ranting, and momentarily pondered what she had just done. Looking from the now empty syringe, to her happily rambling twin sister, Mya felt a pang of pity and sadness. Would she be happy to see Aya out of the picture? Certainly she would. Her twin had always been the more fortunate of the two, when it came to glory and advancement… Mya even thought that Aya was the prettier of the two, because she was fortunate enough to wear a uniform she looked good in. Mya almost never got to wear hers, and the little gold streak she added to one of her bangs seemed to go unnoticed (or uncommented on) by most people.

So, yes, she would be happy when Aya was gone.

Aya, with her popularity among the common soldiers. Aya, with her outspokenness. Aya with her fame over the Battle of Knothole. While her sister was facing down the Eggman and avenging the decimation of the human race, Mya was hunkered down in Tesslik City, waiting out the Combot siege. With Aya gone Mya would finally be able to take her place as the second most powerful individual in the Terra Protectorate. And when the people saw that what would save humanity, and what would give them power enough to dominate the world, was NOT the Fleet… but the product of her research, and her hard work, and her blood, sweat and tears…

Then she would get the accolades and respect she deserved.

She would be the New Eve, giving birth to a race of Overmen!

Her works would remake the world!

But Aya had to be taken out of the picture, and that did, now, sadden her twin sister. It was too late to go back, of course. Too late. It was better to think of Aya giving her life in the name of humanity, and dying in the line of duty. That was something they could both think better of, and in a way, that was exactly what Aya was doing. She just didn't know it yet.

"…but with the fifteen inch guns, you'd never have classified it as a traditional armored carrier, even one of the _Fearless_ class, back in the Great War. I actually had this same discussion with Miles, back when he was thinking what to rename the ship. HE was going to call it either _Nor'easter_ or _Maelstrom_, and I preferred the latter… but he said that he was saving that last name for 'something special.'"

Aya laughed and shook her head. "Lord knows for what! Probably some doomsday weapon. Anyway… Long story short, the name will stay _Nor'easter_. The Mobians agree. The core of the ship is still Miles' and without that, it's a beached whale. We'll name one of the smaller escort carriers _Necromancer_, if Mastermind really wants a ship with that designation."

Aya slowly noticed that Mya was staring at her intently. "Mya?"

"Oh!" Mya shook her hand apologetically. "Sorry. My mind was somewhere else!"

Aya sighed. "That's ok, sis. I know you're not interesting in this kind of thing. We done here?"

"You're ready," Mya put away her equipment, and avoided looking at her sister.

"Good. The prospect of catching some kitsune virus isn't appealing." Aya pushed off the medical bed, and stood up Looking around at the other women in the ward, her eyes narrowed. "I still think it's odd that we're only sending women on this little field trip…"

"As you read from our research, female kitsune are the ones in charge of the defense of Clan lands, and other domestic concerns," Mya said, and that part was true, at least. "So: Mastermind thought it would ease negotiations if we send a similar single gender party. Intel believes it will increase the chance of getting a favorable deal by as much as 50."

"Is that why the kitsune only sent their own males here?" Aya asked, referring to the half dozen kitsune who had come down from the northlands over the last few weeks.

"Something like that. They did send down two females. But… they came and went very quickly. They were only with us for a day or so." Mya's glasses glinted in the light. "Still, we learned a lot from them."

"If you say so."

"Aya…" Mya took a quick step forward, and embraced her sister in a hug. "Take care of yourself up there, ok? And… I am sorry you had to go and leave all your work behind."

"Its all for the cause, right? For humanity." Aya hugged her back, ad then the two parted. "For humanity… this is nothing. No problem at all. I'm happy to do it, as long as it doesn't turn out to be a waste of time. I'll see you again before I head out tomorrow."

"Right." Mya watched her sister leave, and looked around the room at her other victims. "For humanity… for the cause… for the domination of the world… this is nothing. Nothing."

Mya left that lab, and headed for another.

Her favorite.

The Trans Human Enhancement and Augmentation Program had already had several resulting fatalities. What were a couple more, really, in the grand scheme of things? What were a hundred more, if the results were the evolution of a new race of supermen? Who could put a price on the achievement of a hundred lifetimes, and the fulfillment of human destiny? To take one step further… to take one more step on the road to godhood…

After a quick change of clothes, in another lab, deep underground, Mya approached a faintly glowing tube, sent into monitoring equipment built into the floor. It was but one of many incubation chambers in labs throughout the Lone Star Research and Development Complex. And it was, by far, her favorite. Her pet project, in a way. Inside this tube the body of a two-tailed fox floated, curled up in a fetal position. A mask covered the mouth and part of the face, and other tubes and restraints and wires connected to the arms and hands and legs, stimulating and building muscle, while chemicals artificially matured flesh and bones. For months, learning programs had infused the powerful mind with information… and indoctrination.

This was the product of a sample of blood obtained at the sacrifice of several expensive undercover cyborgs. They had been upgraded, specifically for the purpose, and while it had been a somewhat close thing, they had done their jobs, and drawn just enough blood for a fully functional clone to be made. Within the tube, Mya had learned only after the events surrounding the Battle of Knothole… within it, lay the secrets and keys to the power of a god: to power not just over existing Chaos Energy, but to the generation of it as well!

She leaned in close to the transparent plastic.

"The Last Secret…" She purred. "Open your eyes and let me see it. Let it shine through me. Open your eyes… I want to be the first to know, to feel it for myself. Open your eyes, Miles…"

And then, her cheek up against the cool plastic, she sighed happily. "Through you, we shall steal the powers of the gods themselves!"

* * *

Ice Cap Zone 

"And an excellent run there… looks like he's going to be marked down as finishing with two minutes and twenty eight point three seconds. Not enough to challenge first, though."

"Which is a real shame, Jeff. It cut too widely around the boulder area of the obstacle course, and it really cost him."

"That's right Jim. Ericcson's two minutes fifteen seconds is going to be hard to beat, no question about it. That was just a masterful performance."

"Lewis still has a lot to be proud of. He's a true competitor, and a strong up and comer."

"No doubt about that. We can look forward to a lot of good things from this kid in the future."

"Next up is a mobian who needs to introduction…"

"But we'll give him one anyway, eh Jim?"

"Of course. Sonic the Hedgehog is approaching the starting point, with his customized snowboard, looking very confident."

"Well, he has a right to be. So far this Ice Cap Games, he's been able to win gold in every event he's competed in: the Downhill, at both one and two kilometers, the Nordic Jump, The five hundred meter Freestyle. We now have him going for his fifth gold medal, after only a week of competition. Is there anything this amazing athlete can not do?"

"How about avoid controversy for one?" Jim responded. "Not only do we have those two citations for un-sportsman-like conduct, but the debate now raging about the validity and fairness of allowing so called 'Chaos enhanced' players to compete with their un-enhanced peers."

"Yes, it seems one can hardly mention Sonic in respect to these games without wondering whether the committee will bow to ever rising pressure to retract his medals. A petition of players, kept anonymous, has been circling for several days now. I wouldn't mind seeing the names on that list, would you, Jim?"

"It is an interesting discussion, if in poor timing. The correlation of chaos enhanced abilities and steroids, or other performance enhancers, have definitely taken some of the luster out of this young mobian's impressive accomplishments. The argument, of course, being that almost anyone with this natural and apparently inborn ability has an unfair and undeniable advantage against their supposedly 'normal' competition."

"Well, he's at the gate. And it looks like he's ready to go. Let's watch."

Sonic stood at the summit, and looked down at the crowd assembled far below. Lights illuminated the entire way down, and the sun hadn't even totally set yet. Between him and them, a gauntlet of obstacles awaited. Sonic readied himself, and felt the calm before the speed. He was well aware of the controversy around his victories, but he knew, deep down, that he would have still gotten gold eve if he wasn't 'unnaturally overpowered.' He'd raced across and through some of the most treacherous terrain on Mobius. The only one…. The ONLY one… who had ever been able to keep up with him, on or off a board…

He was gone.

What possible competition could he have now, really? Knuckles was the only one, and he was either busy, had no interest in competing, or no ability to snowboard. Sonic set off, and focused on the race, and on his speed. The cold wind blew back his fur, and he savored the taste of it. It was crisp, fresh and free. Cutting past a block of ice, and going over a small jump, Sonic tucked in and grabbed the bottom of board.

He didn't get points for showboating.

He just felt like doing it.

Landing, Sonic mad an extremely close cut around a rock, and headed for the moguls. Left and right, he cut, never slowing, weaving between the piles of snow. Then came the half pipe, which he took to like a fish in water. Things like this – he had been doing for years. Was it any surprise he was so good at it? He hit all the markers, avoided all the trips, and before he was even getting a good adrenalin buzz, it was over. The builder section was comparatively easy. They even had padding, to prevent serious injuries in the event of a crash.

Sonic 'hmfed' and cut straight through, weaving expertly between the obstacles. He jumped, clipped the last small rock, and went airborne. Spinning like a top, he reoriented himself before landing, and cut-skidded to a stop after crossing the finish line.

"Amazing!" the announcer cried. Sonic looked to his side, and saw his time on the main screen, while the crowd cheered (Sonic did, however, hear a few boos, too).

01:46:22

He's beaten the next best by almost thirty seconds.

Sonic smiled smugly.

"Simply amazing, Jeff! Have you ever seen such a display of…"

The voice cut off, replaced by static. A second later, the main screen was replaced by a static image, indicating 'Technical Difficulties.' Around Sonic, the crowd started to get anxious, and even some of the other competitors began to talk curiously amongst themselves. Still, things were orderly.

Or they were, until the first explosion.

It made even Sonic jump, it was so sudden. He turned in the direction of the sound, and saw a plume of smoke in the distance. A second later, two more explosions erupted, and the entire resort was plunged into darkness as the lights gave out. Now, the crowd started to panic. Several women screamed, and people tried to yell to be heard over the din.

"Oh man… I've got a really bad feeling about this…" Sonic bent over and took off his snowboard. As he did, he heard several voices screaming about the sky, and saw the crowd start to look into the air. Sonic did the same. At first, he didn't see anything. Then, he saw shapes silhouetted against the moon… and fainter ones against the dark sky.

Just a few at first.

Then more.

Hundreds more.

And three large blimp-like shapes among them. By the time Sonic saw those, he could hear them too. He could hear the growing roar of their engines. In minutes, it became almost deafening, as they passed overhead, and as small shapes began to descend on the resort town.

Only then did Sonic realize it.

That deafening roar wasn't from an engine.

It was from wings.

The beating of tens of thousands of wings.


	15. Summon Up The Blood I

The heart of the sea beat like a metronome, the rhythmic sound of the waves crashing against an intruder in their midst the only sound for miles. In the inky blackness of the night, a black phantom moved swiftly through the water, a long sleek outline against the spray of water on the surface. Above a curve of dark metal, and up past a rise, behind what seemed like a balcony, two sailors watched the approaching shore.

Where a single, small light, flashed briefly.

"To think, that this great ship, the _TFS Khedive_, should be reduced to the role of a mere smuggling vessel." One of the two adjusted the stylized cap on his head, dipping it slightly to obscure his eyes. It also served to mask most of his face and hair, save for a gray streak behind his ears.

"Sir?" the other asked, with a woman's voice. She, too, wore stylized cap, with a gold seal emblazoned on the front. Her short black hair hung down to her shoulders – a laxness in new military policy that many young female officers preferred, but one that still annoyed some of the 'old dogs' in the establishment.

"The last time this ship… and her captain… sailed these waters, it was to destroy mobian shipping. How ironic, how we've ended up, eh old girl?" The older man patted the rim of metal, and gazed fondly down at the prow of the ship. "Not far from here, in fact, we sent one of their big coal transports to the bottom. Ah, but those were good times for the Federal Undersea Armada!"

"You may still get another crack at them, Captain," the female XO replied, facing out to the shore. "The next war is not far off. We shall crush them."

"I must have said the exact same thing, twenty years ago." The Captain frowned, the wrinkles at the corners of his mouth creasing slightly.

"And we would have won that war," she replied. "If not for the Betrayer."

"And what is to say there won't be another?"

"Another?" The woman bristled. "Another Betrayer? How could that be?"

The Captain sighed. "Old age has taught me not to take anything for granted. But the conflict between ourselves, as human beings, is what makes us great – and what makes us vulnerable. Sometimes I envy the stupid animals we have to deal with. Their lives must be so straightforward… so easy. So simple."

"Respectfully, sir, I can't fathom such an impulse. Better an eternity of torment and conflict as a human being, than a heartbeat spent as a damned furry." The XO narrowed her pretty blue eyes. The hatred in her voice was so youthful, so fresh, that the older man didn't bother with a direct response.

In the distance, the small light flashed again.

"Still… we're rather two faced, aren't we?" The Captain asked, a little suddenly. "Friendship in one hand, a knife in the other?"

"Whatever must be done in the name of victory has a right to be done. No: a responsibility to be done!" The XO paused, but remembered that Captain Caproni had always been quite lenient when it came to speaking freely, when beyond the ears of the rest of the crew. He insisted they use each other as venting boards, both because they were a rather new partnership, and because he thought it made for a better Captain-XO relationship. "Sometimes… sometimes, I read or hear how we deal with them, and wonder if it is wrong to be so dishonest. With them and with ourselves. When Mr. Brin speaks of lasting peace, or even when Captain Florentine did. I suppose it makes a part of me feel uneasy."

"However," she quickly added. "If the mobians are foolish enough to put stock in our words, and not our actions, then they deserve to be deceived. And they deserve to be destroyed! In the past, we may have had the luxury of total honesty, but in these desperate times, we do what we must."

"Right or wrong, it doesn't matter, as long as you taste victory?" The Captain smirked, knowingly. "Don't think that is a new attitude of the modern man… and woman. I can say from experience that it is a belief that has always dwelt in our hearts. What I sometimes worry… is that this Navy, this Army, this beloved civil service, will loose its honor. An honor that is not just a word, not just an anachronism from an era of city states, but an ideal all men strived for. When that ideal is replaced by a cult of victory, or a cult of personality, I have to wonder if the spirit of the corps has become not just lost, but gleefully abandoned."

"Honor." The woman next to him closed her eyes and smiled. "The word refers to both an abstract principle, and a code of conduct. The latter can be rewritten as is convenient, at least. The former can be fixed in retrospect, or through indoctrination. Isn't honor in the eye of the beholder, sir, rather than a universal absolute?"

"It falls to every new generation to decide the path it must take. My generation had its chance… I have no qualms about letting the next do what it will." The Captain folded his arms over his chest. "We'll be ashore soon. Get the men ready to unload the cargo."

"Aye, sir!" The XO saluted, and headed back into the ship. The Captain watched her go, and reflected on his orders.

Of course, by unload the cargo, he actually meant that they would conveniently lose the cargo, which would then be captured by certain anti-royalist parties as contraband. It may have been serving the state, arming mobian rebels in the southern territories, but a smuggler by any other name smelt as bad. Still, the complexities of policy were not his concern. Like any good officer, he simply endeavored to fulfill his orders as well as he could, without outward concern for their greater purpose or meaning.

Not that he particularly trusted the un-elected leadership of either the man known as 'Mastermind,' of which the Captain had both misgivings and suspicions, but he did have trust in his fellow Captain, Aya Florentine. Like himself, she had risen through the ranks, and shown her merit. She was a good soldier, and a good leader, and while technically of the same rank, he had no qualms deferring to her de-facto authority. Aya was an Admiral in all but name. It was a pity there was no Federated Congress to confirm her increase in rank, and make her a formal Admiral, but such were the times. They required one to be _flexible_.

On shore, a tiny light sparkled, closer now.

"Patience, now," he whispered, to the sea and to the shore. "Soon, you'll have your war. I suspect we all will."

* * *

**THE CYCLE OF AGES: A NEW WORLD ORDER**

**CHAPTER FIVE:**

_**Summon Up The Blood**_

* * *

Charmy watched, as the resort communities of Ice Cap Zone passed by, well over a thousand feet below. He could see the fires from the attacks that had crippled the communications and power equipment for the area, cutting short the internationally televised Ice Cap Games. He not only saw, but directed the attack, having given the order to detach and descend a fraction of the expeditionary army for that task.

Now he watched, eyes and face shaded by the elaborate royal helm of Goldenhive. None approached him, though aides stood nearby, ready and eager to make his word into reality. As the few lights in the ground flickered out, he knew, finally, that there was no turning back. The world itself had seen, in real time, the beginning of the Angel Island War.

In the air all around him, and all around the airship from which he commanded, the warriors of the Quaz Xialjyet Alliance flew, in constant air patrols. Most of the army, however, stood in wait aboard the airships. They were rather frail constructions, like high tech zeppelins, reliant on both lighter than air gas, and mechanized propulsions. They were cheap and easily manufactured by the tireless workers of the Hives.

"Sonic…" Charmy whispered the name. He had known from the beginning that the hero of mobius was present and competing down below. The other Princes had not a care for Sonic or anyone else of his sort. The idea of a hero, of a common individual not of royal stock, becoming more than the circumstances surrounding his birth and breeding – it was alien to them. Charmy neither tried to explain it, nor desired to.

He knew what he had to do.

And this, all of this, was part of it.

Ahead, in the great air fleet, he saw other airships, two of which hosted Princes Taji and Ferric. Kenichi had returned south, to launch his attack on the dingo, while Argent had gone north, to set up their perimeter for the coming echidna countermoves. No doubt Argent would advance at his first opportunity to take Echid Saldir. As the leader of the third most powerful colony, Argent would never settle for less, after Kenichi and Charmy had achieved victory and glory in Sandopolis and Angel Lake.

Things were about to get very messy.

"And Sonic… my friend… what will you do? Stay and fight, for the sake of fighting, or return home? I'm sure Sally misses you." Charmy looked back, at the dark ground below where he knew the blue hedgehog was. "No. You'll give chase. It's what you do, isn't it?"

With quiet footsteps, one of his aides approached.

"We are five minutes to launch, your Majesty."

Charmy nodded. "Ready the troops. Prepare the weapons. Let things play out."

"Yes, my lord," the aide turned to go, but hesitated. "My lord?"

"What is it?" Charmy replied, rather crossly.

"My Lord… your former associates. The Chaotix, I believe? What if they are present? Should we give either of the Swarms orders not to harm them?"

Charmy didn't answer immediately. He had considered the possibility, but he was surprised this mere aide had as well. True, his former group was hardly unknown in Goldenhive, but he now wondered if others suspected he had dual loyalties. No doubt they did. That, really, could not be allowed. In the eyes of the Xialjyet, among all the Princes and Breeders, he could allow no shred of his potential disloyalty to become known.

"If the Chaotix take arms against us, they will do so at the cost of their lives." Charmy said, slowly. "That is the way of things. That is the cause of the Quaz Xialjyet, which supercedes all other obligations – friendship camaraderie… even love."

"My Lord." The aide nodded, just once, and left.

"They won't be there, anyway." Charmy said, more to himself than to anyone nearby. "Though… they'll probably hate me like they were."

* * *

Sonic watched as the dark large shapes moved away, almost invisible against the night sky. He knew an air fleet when he saw one (and he'd seen more than a few), and cursed his inability to do anything about it, at least at the moment. If Tails had been here… Sonic cut that bit of speculation short. There was no point in dwelling on what could have been, or his shortcomings. Not that he was generally very contemplative to begin with, but it would only serve to slow him down.

And slowing him down was something he just couldn't allow.

As a creature of action, it almost pained him to fall back, and watch to see what happened next. What descended from the sky was not a robotic foe of the type he was used to dealing with. Despite the armor the newcomers wore, they were definitely living beings, and when it came to life, Sonic felt no shame in looking before leaping. Most of his fights had been straightforward things – he disliked politics or complexity, and more often than not simply ignored it.

Sally was more that sort of mobian.

They came in squads of five, all identical to each other. None had any distinctive markings on them, but in each group, one acted in command, and the other four followed quickly. They were not large mobians, only about a meter tall, and from the start they reminded Sonic of Charmy, with his unusual helmet, and patches of organic looking plate armor over the shoulders, midsetion, and thighs. All carried what looked like a misshapen gauntlet on their forearms, but no other ostensible weaponry.

Except their stingers, of course, which Sonic had seen used to good affect.

It was time to move. At least two hundred had fallen upon the resort, perhaps even twice that number. Leaping up, he tucked into a ball, bounced off a wall, and landed on a nearby roof. From a higher vantage point, he could see them moving among the crowd. They weren't attacking, which was a good sign, but they were plainly rounding everyone up, three or four squads of them entering buildings and searching.

Robots they weren't but they were as methodical enough to be close. Jumping to another roof, Sonic looked to the sky, in the direction the air fleet had disappeared. That was the six thousand credit question: where were they headed? And should he follow them, or try and sort things out in the resort first?

The sound of an explosion made the decision for him. Why they this place was being attacked, Sonic didn't know. Hell, he didn't even know who was attacking, for the most part. But until he was given evidence to prove otherwise, he had to default to helping the object of aggression, and not the aggressor.

In a heartbeat, he was moving, far faster than before.

He headed straight for the sounds of the explosion, but didn't hear any other weapons fire. That wasn't too surprising. Energy weapons were generally very quiet, producing more of a hiss than the bang or bark of a projectile weapon. Running along the side of one of the taller resort hotels, he descended and hit the ground, still in stride. Ahead of him, he saw another building, and recognized it immediately.

Resort Security.

Already, the newcomers were buzzing around the building. A breach had already been made in one of the upper levels, and smoke wafted out from the resulting doorway, three stories in the air. Sonic saw a squad of five directly ahead of him, and made the split second decision to superspin. He aimed just to the side, to bowl over and not kill, and rebounded off the first of the soldiers expertly.

It felt strange – not like a robot, and not like any organic target he'd hit before either. It also got the attention of the remaining three, as he slammed into the fourth, sending it flying, and crashing into the snow. The remaining three whirled, and Sonic's feet touched the ground as a cocky smile crossed his features.

"I don't know who you…"

He wasn't given the common courtesy of finishing his sentence. Two of the soldier drones charged, and as they did, Sonic saw a bladed spine rise out from their forearms to curve back just past the elbow. He jumped back and high, following his normal instinct. It proved a potentially costly mistake.

The two soldiers just took to the air, the wings behind their backs becoming an instant blur. In midair, Sonic's maneuverability was severely retarded. It wasn't normally a problem, but he didn't fight maneuverable flying enemies very often. Only Tails came close, and the kitsune fox was still never as maneuverable in the air as he was on land. These weren't just mobians who could also fly – these were flying mobians, perfectly adapted to that role.

The first accelerated beyond the second, and pulled back its left arm, clearly aiming to slash at the blue hedgehog with its forearm spine. The second flew higher, arms in a similar position. Sonic watched them, mentally targeted the one higher up, and spin attacked. From a position mid jump, he could only get one of his signature attacks in at a time, but if he could hit his target, jump off it as it fell, he could manage another by redirecting his momentum. It was a special technique only he and Shadow (that faker) had managed to pull off, using their latent Chaos abilities.

He felt the air around him twist, and solidify behind his feet, allowing him to push off. Neither of his opponents seemed to display shock or surprise by the sudden aerial maneuver, but when Sonic hit his target, something unexpected happened. It hung on to him. Which wasn't supposed to happen. He had hit it hard – not as hard as possible, but still very hard. On impact, he had felt as least three or four ribs break. But instead of being knocked unconscious, the drone soldier reached out, and grabbed big handfuls of Sonic's short blue fur.

Sonic growled softly in annoyance, and tensed his quills. Spurts of blackish blood flew from the assailant's arms where it had been slashed, and a sliced finger flew through the air. Still, it held firm. Looking straight into the creature's face, Sonic saw dull white eyes, tinted only peripherally with brown, and an expressionless face. To the hero's surprise, it… it…

It creeped him out.

"What the hell ARE YOU!" Sonic lashed out, and decked the face, sending it to the side, and spraying spit and small teeth into the cold air. Still, it held onto him, and dragged him down. Worse, as they fell, Sonic saw, out of the corner of his eye, the second one turning around behind him. Sonic pounded on the soldier holding him, breaking its jaw, but it still held, the death grip as strong as ever.

Moments later, Sonic felt something wet on his back, accompanied a millisecond later by a lance of pain. Thankfully, his skin was extremely thick on his back, and his quills and fur had helped mitigate the attack. But it had drawn blood. That, alone, was a rather alien experience, even after all his years of fighting. He'd almost never been actually cut by anything.

The two finally landed, and Sonic immediately twisted, and shifted his center of balance. He managed it just in time, as the forearm spine of the soldier holding onto him blocked the one of its comrade, which descended from above, wings beating like the wind of a hurricane. Sonic struggled, and elbowed the drone, but still it stayed conscious, and still it held onto him. It was strong, too, but not very skilled beyond some natural viciousness and tenacity.

Again, its partner tried to slash at Sonic, and again he maneuvered it so that the other one's spine blocked the strike. He had hoped that the possibility of hurting its comrade would cause the other soldier drone to back off, but it seemed to hardly care in the slightest. It attacked in ever escalating ferocity, pivoted, and stabbed with its stinger, which may as well have been a knife – it was as long as Sonic's hand, from the wrist to the tip of his middle finger.

He was not in an enviable situation, even if he was holding his ground.

"Get away from him!"

It wasn't the voice Sonic expected. He spared a look behind the attacking soldier, who had paused momentarily, wiping the snow from its face. Sonic's would be rescuer was an echidna girl, maybe fourteen years old, in a bright pink and brown ski jacket, and soft fuzzy mittens. For once, Sonic was stunned completely beyond words.

"I said: leave him alone! Go away!" she yelled.

With a huff, the girl bend down, and scooped up twin handfuls of snow. For the first time, the drone soldier spoke, the forearm spines on its arms tensing, and rising slightly up and down.

"Surrender," it hissed that one word, but the tone was high-pitched and almost female. "Do not resist."

The girl raised her hand, snowball included, but never got the chance to throw. A second later, something fast and green hit her, and she fell back without a sound, limp as a rag doll. Sonic's eyes widened at the sight, and with an enraged roar, he backhanded the already broken face of his captor, loudly breaking its neck. Still, even still, the creature's grip remained unbreakable.

Without second thought, the other soldier drone turned back to Sonic, and resumed its attack. But with the other one dead, Sonic found it easy enough to move the body. Timing it perfectly, he lined up the dead drone's wrist with the attacker's forearm spine. It cut through the unarmored wrist cleanly, and Sonic immediately jumped to his feet, and spun the body, ignoring the fountain of black blood that covered half his face. It took three revolutions, but he not only bought himself some space, but also tore off the other hand's grip.

With a loud rip, the dead drone flew through the air and hit the ground, one hand missing, the other with a mass of quills and fur. Sonic winced at the pain in his side, and knew he was probably bleeding there too. This wasn't how things were supposed to have turned out.

Not at all.

He watched the one that had been attacking him, and barely missed being impaled from the side. He dodged the new drone's attack, and countered with an elbow to its face, but then another was on him, and then the one from before. The two he'd hit early on were back on their feet, and probably had been for at least a few seconds. The leader remained uninvolved, and watching dispassionately.

Sonic didn't have to time think about that, or the fact that their leader had been the one to use some strange weapon on that girl. Survival alone was his primary goal. Ducking a swipe, and dropping back to avoid another slash, he saw more movement – multi-colored movement. Other echidnas – three of them, two crouched near where the girl had fallen.

"No!" Sonic yelled. "Run away! RUN! Get out of…" he caught the inside forearm of one of the drones, and used it to block an attack by another. "Get out of here!"

"They killed her!" One of the echidna yelled, tears in his eyes. "You bastards!"

They charged.

With fist and foot, they charged. No: Sonic amended that. One of them had a snowboard, and seemed to plan to use it like a club. It was suicide; they had to realize that. The leader of the drone squad stepped forward, and popped out his forearm blades. Another broke off from the attack on Sonic, and also closed with the three echidnas. Desperately, Sonic countered another slash, and then ducked, and pulled the second drone into the other's attack.

Its head came clean off.

But as it fell, without even thinking about it, Sonic felt one of its blades cut into his leg. It was the worst possible wound, to the worst possible place. His legs were his life… and the skin there was not even a fraction as thick as that on his back. The glancing slash of the drone's spine cut a long red line down Sonic's left thigh and calf. He howled in pain, but kept the presence of mind to hit quick and hard into his remaining opponent. A blow to the jaw, a spray of spit and blood. A hammer blow to the upper arm, just below where it connected to the shoulder, ineffective. Another blow to the face, and Sonic saw his glove and knuckles rip as they hit the edge of the soldier's helmet.

Too long!

He heard a scream behind him.

He was taking too long!

Ducking another desperate slash, he jumped, blinding pain shooting up his leg, and stomped down on the soldier's face, the impact snapping the head far out of position. He landed on both feet, but regretted it, as a small geyser of bright red blood stained the snowy ground, erupting from tensed and damaged mobian muscle. Pushing away the hurt, he turned, and saw another of the echidnas fall.

It had been the one with the snowboard.

He had obviously used it to block one or two attacks, but all for naught. The second drone had moved in, and its arm was at a post strike position, high and in the air. The echidna stood still for a moment , before several of his dreadlock quills fell to the ground. A second later, a spray of blood show out from his neck, and he fell to the ground with a thud. The third, even before seeing this, was running away.

He didn't even get close to escaping.

The leader drone just raised his arm, the one with the strange organic gauntlet. A second later, the same greenish blob as before shot out, without so much as a bang or hiss. It hit the fleeing mobian from behind, and he let out a strangled cry as he fell, clawing at his back. Sonic felt a heavy weight fall on his heart.

He hadn't known any of them, but… but the girl had tried to save him. And the others…. He hadn't been able to save any of them. What were they doing even fighting, if they couldn't defend themselves! Still, facts were facts. He hadn't saved any of them. More likely was that he had killed them, just by starting a fight with the invaders in the first place.

And, Source Alive, his leg and back hurt.

Not just hurt – they Burned!

The two remaining drones turned to face him. The leader made no attempt to use its ranged weapon, instead popping its forearm spines again. This was not good, and even though his layers of ego and bull-headedness, he knew it. He was used to fighting opponents who relied on ranged fighting. That was generally how he handled Eggman's forces. When someone insisted on actual hand to hand, like Knuckles or Metal Sonic, they fought like he himself did.

He was used to treating that kind of fight as the exception, and had underestimated his opponents here in that regard. They were built, first and foremost, for melee, and obviously preferred it. He'd gotten injured, too. He could probably have run for it…

"Heh." Sonic stood, and started to run, towards the two drones. "I would, but it just ain't my style!"

And so he did what he always did, and charged headlong into the fray.

* * *

Knuckles stepped through the holographic illusion that divided Hidden Palace from the rest of Angel Island, and led the way to Haven. He'd come this way several times before, and knew which of the threats in the area were real, and which fakes means to scare off the curious or the desperate. Haven's defenses were entirely passive, which was perhaps a naïve move on the part of the Guardianship.

Not that Knckles himself was even supposed to know about it.

His father, Locke, had abandoned him on the island, years ago, and retreated to Haven to join the other former Guardians, each a generation older than the last, save for the gap between Sabre and Sojourner, given the deaths of Athair and Janelle-Li. With the similar passing of Hawking, just a few years ago, that left only Spectre, his son Thunderhawk, and grandson Sojourner, plus Locke and Sabre to make up the current Brotherhood. They were Knuckles' ancestors, one, two, five, six and seven generations removed. All had followed tradition, and left the Floating Island in the care of their heir apparent, while they went on to 'bigger things' – namely sparring with the Dark Legion, keeping the island uninhabited, and occasionally spying on the outside world and the pocket zone of Echidnapolis.

The fact that the ritual abandonment had ruined Knuckles' so called childhood, and that they expected him to similarly fall in line, didn't sit very well with the current Guardian of Angel Island. That, and the general abrasiveness of his ancestors – Spectre's ruthlessness and cold hearted nature, Thunderhawk's crassness and flightiness, Sojourner's whining and weak will, all served to turn Knuckles away from his older relatives. Sabre, the problem solver and leader of the group, had seemed bearable enough, if distant. Locke, at least, he had gradually developed a more positive relationship with, letting the past stay in the past.

However, it wasn't like Knuckles went out of his way to see them.

As he passed through the hidden entrance, and into the open area of Haven, Knuckles looked around, searching for any sign of its residents. None was forthcoming. Which was… odd. As estranged as he was with some of them, someone had always been present to greet him on his infrequent visits to the complex. Now, there was nothing.

Knuckles cupped his hands, and brought them up to his mouth. "Hello? Anybody around?"

Haven's 'hanger' area was large, no doubt built to accommodate larger vessels that would be built as the need arose, and it stretched into the mountain for well over a hundred meters. This part of the complex was built in the old echidna style, like some of the Echidnapolis buildings, like the Grand Conservatory, the Council Chambers, and the numerous Auroriums. Which meant that there was a lot of highly stylized and textured stone edifices, more artistic than functional.

Parked in the great hanger, four hovercraft sat, unmoving.

"It isn't likely anyone's left… so…" Knuckles crossed the open space slowly. "Where are they?"

Coming to one of the doors to the complex proper, Knuckles let a small eyepiece set in the wall scan his face, and walked into the guts of Haven. The lights activated as he approached, the computer system sensing his body heat. It was easy to get lost in the maze of corridors, rooms, labs, and storage spaces, but Knuckles had a fairly good idea of where he was headed. He couldn't have quickly found his way to an Astrophysics Lab, but he knew the way to the heart of Haven – the Master Emerald Chamber. In fact, he used to be able to visit the Emerald without the fuss, but the old mountain tunnel to the Chamber, from the outside, had been sealed for safety purposes.

Which, of course, the Guardians blamed him for.

Yes, he had sort of led Robotnick to the Emeralds holding the island in the air, and yes, he had sort of been unable to stop the same Robotnick from taking them to power the Death Egg. But it wasn't as if the Guardians, then six in number, did anything to intervene. No: they had sat back and watched. Knuckles felt the fur rise on the back of his neck at the thought.

Deeper and deeper into Haven he went, passing empty rooms, and deserted equipment, including one of Haven's automated defense stations. Knuckles walked by the sleek curved energy turrets built into the walls, through a door, and around a corner. He knew this to be the main walkway, which led to the reception area, and then the living quarters of Haven's permanent residents. Access to most of the Haven Complex was via the main lift elevator, which connected the different levels of the structure. Exactly how many meters of rock separated the different levels, Knuckles wasn't sure.

He entered the reception room, but still received no greeting from Haven's Guardians. Silently, he looked around the two-story room, and saw no sign of movement or activity, save the beeping and silent humming of machinery and electronics. The room, like most of Haven, was built in the new-technical style, with flat surfaces, and bright displays over every possible surface. It was ironic that the Dark Legion, too, preferred this type of aesthetic in their workplaces.

Knuckles first impulse was to query the computer, but Haven had no AI. Despite their use, reliance even, on technology, the Guardians also distrusted it. So, long ago, they had decided against the programming and incorporation of AIs in their advanced computer systems, instead using older software interfaces. Ones that, unfortunately, Knuckles was not familiar with.

Still curious about his ancestors' absence, he walked to the large door of the main lift. It led to the bottom sections of Haven, and from there it was only a short walk and another lift down deeper to the Observation Chamber and the Emerald Room. Knuckles pressed a bright button to summon the lift, and the computer made a rude beep in response. Tilting his head to the side, Knuckles pressed again, and for a second time it beeped loudly.

"What the…?" The Guardian looked down at a small screen over the lift controls. Normally, it showed the location of the lift, and the level it was at. Now, i read differently.

LIFT DISABLED

"Lift disabled?" Knuckles asked, and frowned. "How can that be? Come on! Work!"

He pressed again, and got another beep.

LIFT DISABLED

A second later, the text scrolled upwards, and became replaced by:

ERROR – 507920A43CV  
INSUFFICIENT POWER  
COUPLINGS 12 13 14 15 16  
INOPERATIVE

Then, on another screen nearby, against a blue background:

WARNING

PRIMARY POWER – OFFLINE  
AUXILIARY POWER – OFFLINE  
TERCIARY POWER – ONLINE

MORE

"Wonderful!" Knuckles growled, and tried to pry the doors open. Not only couldn't he get a good grip, or leverage, but the doors were magnetically locked and sealed. They had been designed to hold up against a potential enemy assault, and wouldn't be pulled open so easily. Without demagnetizing the door lock, there was little hope of forcing it open.

Pressing MORE, he received a summary of the Haven Systems.

Primary Systems -

Primary Lift - inactive  
Secondary Lift – inactive  
Defense Systems – tertiary power  
Life Support – tertiary power  
General Access – tertiary power only  
Lab 1 – inactive  
Lab 2 – inactive  
Lab 3 – internal power only  
Lab 4 – inactive  
Lab 5 – internal power  
Confinement – internal power only  
Reactor Control – tertiary power  
Computer Core – internal power only  
Security Station 1 – internal power only  
Security Station 2 – internal power only  
Internal Sensors – inactive  
External Sensors - inactive

DETAILED BREAKDOWN – secondary and tertiary systems?

"Great. Just great." Almost everything was off line or running on internal power. Knuckles looked to his left, and saw the door to the living quarters. Curious, and not more than a little concerned, he quickly jogged over. The door opened, and he walked down the long hall that was Haven's Dormitory. A large room near the end, opposite the normal rooms, served as a lounge. There was a medical bay, too, but that was near to the lift, where any patient could be potentially isolated.

Knuckles went to the first door he knew to be occupied, and knocked. It was the closest to the entranceway, and the fourth from that end. Knuckles knew it to belong to Grandfather Sabre. Knuckles knocked again, and a third time, but got no response.

So he opened the door, and it slid aside without fuss.

Sabre's room was empty. The lights turned on as Knuckles entered, and looked around. Sabre's room was fairly Spartan, with few amenities. A dresser, however, had several pictures on open display. Knuckles recognized the common them to them – his grandmother, Jenna-Lu. Most were on their side. One was face down. Deciding to keep looking elsewhere, Knuckles went to the next-door down.

Spectre's room.

The door again opened, but the lights never reached full illumination. This was hardly surprising, given Spectre's personality and temperament. The room was almost completely bare, with no pictures or decorations. No: Knuckles amended that, as he took a closer look. There were small holes in the wall, where a picture had probably once hung, but whatever had been there was now long gone. There was also some broken glass, half cleaned up, and half piled up against the side of a desk. On the desk itself, a computer monitor displayed a screen saver – a mobius strip, with a small blue and green ball rolling around in an endless loop.

Knuckles hesitated, before moving the mouse, and undoing the saver. What replaced it was an unfinished document. Knuckles was about to read it, when he saw several colorful bits of paper in the wastebasket nearby. Scrolling to document upwards a little, he also reached down, and gathered up the bits of thrown out paper. Some of the pieces were just blue and white, and others were brown. Finally, Knuckles saw one with a hand, and another with half a face.

A female's face.

It was one he didn't recognize. Probably Spectre's wife. But why was it torn up?

"Problems continue to plague our computer systems. As usual, Thunderhawk and Sojourner are of little or no help. Sabre has proven useful, as usual, in all matters technical, however he has been unable to permanently fix the damaged systems. This has left him frustrated and irritable, but at least he had not petulantly fled to the confined of his room, like my so-called son. Worse: my grandson has it in his head to pursue the same mad mysticism that the fool Athair left us for. To have begat such children; sometimes I recoil at the thought of them. They weaken the Brotherhood. It was only through my efforts, breaking the back of the Dark Legion in the years before their birth, that they became spoiled in the decades of peace."

It read on:

"Had I to do it again, I would not have killed so many of the enemy. My son and grandson became spoiled and weak, and my great grandchild ended up some sunbaked shaman to a pack of homeless jackals. But I digress."

"In addition to the technical problems now suddenly plaguing Haven (sabotage again, perhaps? But who… who?), there have been reports by some of our more impressionable members of unusual chaos-related activity. Nonsense. They coat their spiritualist idiocy by blaming the Chaos Force. I have seen no such thing in all my time around the Emerald, and seeing to supposedly damaged systems. I have had more dreams about her than usual, but that is hardly the same. The disciple of these youngsters has never been as ironclad as Hawking or Mathias would have wished (rest their souls), but now it has become even worse. Sabre, as soft hearted as he is sometimes, has proven unable to control the others, so perhaps it is time I once again take the place that is righ…"

And stopped.

Knuckles didn't like how that sounded even incomplete as it was, and he tried to reconcile it with his notion of Spectre – the oldest of the Brotherhood. True, Spectre had been stern and cold, but he had never struck Knuckles as particularly power hungry or controlling. Spectre had usually just preferred to handle things himself. He didn't seem to like having to worry about others, even close kin.

There was nothing else in that document, and the others were all password encrypted. Given that, Knuckles surmised that Spectre had definitely been called away from his writing by some emergency. Something related to the complex's technical problems, maybe?

Knuckles tried the next room down, which was actually two from Spectre's. One of the empty rooms had been Hawking's, but all his stuff was now in storage. Rather, the next room belonged to Thunderhawk. However, it was locked. And so was Sojourner's. Only near the end, at Locke's room, did Knuckles find another empty door.

The room was a mess.

Papers, files, bits and pieces of models and assorted constructions, all had been thrown to the floor. It was like a storm had hit his father's normally neat and organized room. On the desk, normally the centerpiece of Locke's life, his computer monitor was smashed in, and lying face up. The computer had also been thrashed, and obviously kicked in several times. Wires were everywhere. And so were pieces of paper.

Lara-Le.

Knuckles saw her again and again. In every torn up picture, she was intact sometimes holding her new baby, Mace. Many of the pictures were new, and the little bits of green highlight and text indicated that they had probably been taken courtesy of the Guardian's electronic spy programs and network. Just as disturbing was the object of rage in every destroyed picture: Lara's new husband, Wynmacher. Knuckles let out a deep breath, and stepped away from the room.

This wasn't right.

This wasn't like his father.

This was all wrong.

As he backed off, he stepped on an intact piece of paper, this one a schematic of the Haven Complex, with some hastily scribbled notes written on it. They highlighted the Master Emerald, and then pointed to several different areas. A lot of it was technical jargon, but it also clearly indicated the two lifts in the complex.

Had Locke sabotaged Haven?

"No…" Knuckles couldn't believe it. Locke had sacrificed everything for the Guardians, and for tradition. Even his own family. Locke turning against Haven, against the Brotherhood of Guardians… it was unfathomable. But looking at the schematic, Knuckles also saw something potentially very useful. In small text was a label for secondary auxiliary power control, located beneath the hanger – in the docking, storage, and maintenance facilities used to recharge the Brotherhood's hovercraft. Locke had it circled in red, but without any other mark. Had it, too, been sabotaged?

There was only one way to find out.

Auxiliary power would restore the lifts, or at least the Primary one. Knuckles resolved himself to getting to the root of the problem, and headed back out of the Dormitory area. Through reception, he headed back down the main hallway, almost to the security stations. There, looking more like a storage locker than anything else, was a stairwell down a level, to the Hanger maintenance section. Easily pulling down the door lever, Knuckles crawled down the access tube. This part of Haven was usually only accessed via doors in the Hanger floor Knuckles had no idea how to unlock. This was in was probably in case of mechanical failure.

It was dark.

And hot.

Dropping to his feet, and letting go of the handholds on the wall, Knuckles looked around and tried to orient himself. This part of Haven was industrial looking – tubes and thick coils of wire, tied tightly together. Some of the pipes were labeled with warnings, including one that mentioned 'explosive.' Not encouraging. Knuckles followed the main passage, towards what he suspected was the area just under the Hanger. It was quiet down in the twisting guts of pipes and machinery, except for the occasional creak of metal or the hiss of steam.

Soon enough, things opened out a bit, and he could see how the pipes and coils headed to the ceiling, to connect up to the Hanger. In a large storage space nearby, through thick glass, he could see missiles, lined up neatly. Those were new, at least to him. Behind another pane of glass, he saw huge yellow drums with pipes and wires leading into them. Striped yellow tape was everywhere, with the words 'caution' emblazoned on almost everything.

He followed the largest wires with his eyes, and soon found a small control station buried amid the rougher, dirtier machinery. Sure enough, it was labeled: "Secondary Auxiliary Power Station," and included a conspicuous jumper switch among with other maintenance related controls. Knuckles flipped back the safety, and pulled down the breaker. After a deep breath, he moved it back into place, and the entire room powered up with a roar and a snarl. Somewhere in the distance, something hummed to life, and something else powered up, and to his right, something started moving back and forth, around and around.

Heading back the way he came, just a few seconds later, the lights flickered.

"What?" Knuckles looked up at one of the small neon blue lights. A second later, it turned red, and then faded, plunging him into near darkness. Still, aside from the lighting, all the previous noises continued as usual, so Knuckles kept going. Behind him, the rhythmic beating of machinery sounded, over and over, and alone in the dark, he felt a chill run down his spine.

Walking forward, faster, Knuckles soon broke into a short run, as a primal need to escape the close confines of his environment seized his heart. Scrambling up the well, and back into the light, Knuckles felt his pounding heart slowly return to normal. Quickly closing the door behind him, and locking it, he silently wondered why he had suddenly gotten spooked. It wasn't like him.

Brushing off the experience as anxiety, he headed back to the lift.

Sure enough, the lights were brighter than before, and the little error message on the lift now read: LIFT OPERATIONAL

It then went on to add:

LEVEL FOUR

Level Four was as far down as it went, probably about ten or twenty stories deep into the mountain rock. Which meant that the last one to use it had gone down, and not up. Knuckles pressed the button to summon the lift, and sure enough, it started to rise. Level Three. A bit of a pause, and then Level Two. The doors opened. There was a level above, the upper Meeting Room. Knuckles intended to check there first, in case any of the internal sensors had recorded something before going offline.

The lift elevator itself was large, and cheerily well lit. It rose up, and in a few seconds stopped at Level One, the highest level of Haven. There, as the door opened, a pair of glowing eyes and a maw of red teeth sent Knuckles back, hard against the rear of the lift. A heartbeat later, the lights came on, bathing the room, and revealing the wicked image to be two large monitors, scrambled with static, and an intermittently illuminated series of panels.

Chuckling to himself, Knuckles shook his head, and entered the meeting room, or Nerve Center, that served as Haven's primary hub of external and internal data. There was another room down deep in Haven, the Control Center, that regulated more technical areas of the complex, built as it was directly over the main computer systems. But the Nerve Center was where the Guardians moitors parts of Mobius, and much of Angel Island and Echidnapolis. There were four stations, each surrounded by monitors and control panels specifically for this purpose.

All were offline, and black.

Only two were operational, and showed only endless black and white static. Which was a little odd, since Knuckles was sure they had been red before the lights came on. He approached the central table, in the middle of the circular room. It had control panels set into it, in front of the six chairs, but none seemed responsive or active, except in some minimal sense. Were the computers malfunctioning? Knuckles turned to the wall, left of the lift door, which should have displayed images of the different areas of Haven itself.

Nothing but static.

"this way…"

Knuckles spun around at the voice, but saw only an empty room. It had been scarcely a whisper, but the he could have sworn that he heard it. Just looking around, hearing only static, Knuckles slowly convinced himself that he had just imagined it. That he had imagined it out of the random hiss of the malfunctioning surveillance systems.

Getting back in the lift, Knuckles pressed the button for the lowest floor. The doors closed, and the elevator immediately began to descend, passing by the Second Level only a few seconds later. The Third Level, however, was not fast forthcoming. Knuckles waited.

And waited.

It seemed to be taking much longer than expected. He looked up at the display over the door, and it showed a "…" indicating that it was between floors. He pressed the button for the Fourth Level, once again. Maybe it had gotten stuck? But, no: that wasn't it. Knuckles could feel it in his body – the sensation of the elevator descending. And descending.

Deeper and deeper, and getting nowhere.

Above Knuckles' head, the lights flickered, and a cold wind blew out of the air conditioning vents. As the lights dimmed, and then died, Knuckles swore he heard an indistinct voice in that sudden wind. Something like "help me" and then "more." No: not more. "mother." He froze up, unmoving, as the wind faded away, but feeling colder than before.

The doors opened.

What floor was this? Knuckles looked up, hoping to see something encouraging, but still the display read: "…" The walls ahead were dark, a poor lighting provided only by flickering electrical lights off to the side. Knuckles pressed the button for the Fourth Level again, and then the one for the Second. Nothing happened.

Finally, he stepped out, and instantly the doors behind him shut like a vise. Knuckles whirled, and tried to open them again, but the second he turned around, he felt eyes watching from the shadows. A half second later, he heard the sound of something moving, scurrying, like wet little feet. He turned, slowly, eyes moving rapidly from side to side.

"Come out!" He barked, but didn't get any closer. "Show yourself!"

Silence.

Knuckles tried to calm himself, and force down his flight response. There was nowhere to run, anyway. He appraised the walls, and saw that they curved. From that, he guessed that he was on the Third Level, the Laboratory Circle. Here, a large half circle spread out from the lift's exit to the left and right. Different rooms and labs splayed out from the half circle corridor. It also meant that, either way he went, he'd leave his back exposed.

Heading in the direction of the noise he was sure he had heard, Knuckles moved slowly. Above him, the lights went from dim, to dead, seemingly at random. A few sparked angrily. Several meters on his way, he heard a ripping sound coming from his right. He turned his head just in time to see one of the air vents shudder. He watched it for several seconds more, but nothing happened. The only sound to be heard was that of his own heavy breathing.

Licking his lips, he kept going.

He passed by the first lab, on his right. The door had: "LAB ONE" creatively etched on it. What went on inside it, Knuckles had no idea. He'd never been in this part of Haven before. He was about to pass it by, when he saw something move, from the left to the right, somewhere in the dark room. A primal sort of anger overcoming his fear, he quickly ordered the door open, and it moved aside with a long hiss.

The half dead lights revealed only a swinging cord, hanging from the ceiling.

It was then that Knuckles realized that he had been holding his breath… and that he still heard breathing. Spinning around, he tried to pinpoint the sound, but it seemed to always be to his left or right, never in front of him. In his desperation, the red echidna tumbled to the side, elbowed a set of beakers and liquids, and sent them crashing to the floor. His gloved hand landed in something soft, and from the splattering sound, wet. He recoiled, not even knowing what it was, and fell back, slipping on the liquid on the floor.

Kicking off, desperate to have his back to something, he hit a shelf full of medical equipment. The breathing seemed to have disappeared, and Knuckles was about to wipe the cold sweat from his brow, when he saw his hands. They were red. Blood red. He gasped, but didn't yell, and looked around for something to wipe it off on. In the darkness, above him, something metallic bent with a whine and a banshee screech.

Slowly, fighting for control, Knuckles got to his feet.

And saw what he had put his hand in.

It looked blue and yellow, but blob like. Almost amorphous. Mostly, now, it was red. Knuckles sniffed his glove, and confirmed the coppery smell of blood. And there was more of it, dark and blackish, on the wall. Some looked like handprints, others strange symbols, smeared on the wall. But among them all, was one long one – long and serpentine, winding up the wall, along the ceiling, twisting and turning. Knuckles felt sick.

For just a moment, he blinked, and then something was on him. He yelled in surprise and fear, and reached up to dislodge it. It was wet and small, but it burned, hot and evil on his left shoulder. He flailed at it frantically, without technique or finesse. Finally, a sound blow splattered it, and it fell to the ground with a screech.

Knuckles had no time to dwell on the victory.

More of them – small, fast creatures – slithered and scuttled out of vents, out of drawers and sudden cracks in the ceiling and in the wall. Dozens. Each little blob seemed different than the one before – some had long fangs and huge gaping mouths, others were covered in eyes. Some had long hairy spider legs, others oozed along on trails of slime. Some had wings, and others claws, and others a frightening array of spikes, spines, tails or stingers. They advanced on him, hissing and spitting and snarling and howling, a tide of chaos and insanity, glowing in the death throes of flickering halogen light.

His mind numb, Knuckles instincts and body still responded. He lashed out, screaming in terror and revulsion, and his fist splattered one of the tiny terrors in a spray of gore. His foot stomped down, crushing a scuttling crablike creature with a resounding crunch. He swung and he kicked and he yelled, but they kept coming, hungry and mad. They tore and bit and swarmed everywhere, until all Knuckles could see was an endless wave of eyes and teeth.

And fire.

Fire?

Something hot and orange splashed across three of the beasts, incinerating them. Something fast and metallic moved, and cleaved two in half. Knuckles kept fighting, killing anything he managed to hit, and more yellow and red fire filled the room. The tiny demons burned, and finally retreated, back into the cracks and dark places that had spawned them.

Knuckles finally looked over his shoulder, and saw the source of his aid.

"You!"

The human smirked, and propped a makeshift spear against his shoulder. Freeing that hand, he ran a finger down the metal implant encircling his left eye. In his other hand he held an aerosol spray can, jury rigged as a flamethrower.

"Nice to see you too," he spoke with a refined, foreign accent. "You didn't think I'm stay copped up forever, did you? Especially when all this is going on."

Hunter didn't offer Knuckles a hand getting back to his feet. Not that Knuckles would have taken it, even if he had. Instead, the human narrowed his eyes at the burning end of the lab.

"In any case: welcome, Knuckles. Welcome to Hell."


	16. Summon Up The Blood II

Explosions defied proper description.

You really had to see one, or better yet: experience one, to understand what the word itself meant. The bright red and orange, with twists of black, all rising in a misshapen conflagration, glowing hotly and brightly, just for a moment, before dissipating and dying – he could picture it, just as he could picture the surprised and fearful faces of those caught in the blasts. Charmy could not see the destruction that was being unleashed by his command. It was too far away. But he could well imagine it.

The First Attack Wave, just now returning, would have swept down, striking at all the local defense, communications and control targets of opportunity. Echidna Radar had detected the intrusion into their airspace, and had scrambled a pitiful defense in the form of two squadrons of fighter aircraft. For those flying threats, so much faster than anything the Quaz Xialjyet had, they fielded over a hundred warrior drones armed with shoulder launched air-to-air missiles. In moments, those enemy fighters had gone down in flames, as clouds of black and orange erupted around them.

Then, the real attack would have begun.

Drones carrying explosives would have descended on the less well armored targets, while the elements of the first wave comprising their formal Bomber Brigades, piloting light ground attack craft, bombarded local air defenses and demolished strongholds and defensive bunkers, as well as directing attacks against runways and air control facilities. In blossoms of fire, the Angel Lake Shipyards had been rendered helpless for the second strike, which would cripple them for months to come.

Soon, the second wave, all bombers and escorts, would fall upon the airships under construction, including the EDS _Manifest Destiny_ and the EDS _Midnight Prayer_. The plan laid out called for the destruction of those two carrier-battleship hybrids, as well as the annihilation of the rest of the Echidna Air fleet either docked in harbor for maintenance, or under construction. Which was to say: that _had_ been the plan.

Charmy turned from the status screens to the airship's helmsman.

"Helm!" He barked, his voice loud but surprisingly calm. The Breeder caste member at the controls faced her Prince and sovereign.

"My Lord?" She asked, always ready to carry out the Imperial Will.

"Break formation with the _Java_ and _Okubo_. All ahead, full speed," Charmy said, and then spoke to the Comm. officer. "Order the _Golden Way_ into a flanking position behind this ship, and inform Prince Taji and Prince Ferric that I am pursuing an… 'alternate objective,' and that they should continue the operation as planned."

"Yes, my lord!" Both officers echoed their genetically ingrained response to his orders. A second later, the ship under his feet, the _Spirit of Gold_, accelerated away from the airfleet towards the Angel Island Shipyards. Looking up at one of the ship's biomechanical displays, Charmy confirmed the other Goldenhive ship, _the Golden Way_, coming up to the left and behind, matching velocity.

"My Lord!" the Comm officer spoek up, a few seconds later. "Prince Taji is demanding an explanation. No response from Prince Ferric."

"That is to be expected." Charmy sighed, and motioned for her to put the communication through to the main speaker and monitor. A few seconds later, the face of Prince Taji appeared on the main screen. He seemed agitated for some reason. Charmy smiled.

"Goldenhive! What are you doing pulling away from the fleet?" Taji ground his teeth together. "This wasn't in the battle plans!"

"These has been a change in plans, Taji. I am going to attack the _Manifest Destiny_ myself. I wish to investigate its databanks, and make off with as much as I can before it is destroyed."

"Ah." Taji paused at that, obviously not having expected that response. Charmy didn't let him have time to think it over. He knew when to press another being off balance.

"Just focus your attacks on the other ships and hold position here. Enemy air defenses are down, but there's no telling what surprises they may have that we've overlooked. I don't want to risk any ships and lives but my own."

Charmy continued to smile.

Taji opened his mouth to speak, "Well… I suppose, but…"

"Good. Guard my back." Charmy motioned for the connection to be cut, and the screen went blank, before being replaced by a picture from one of the external cameras. Charmy allowed himself a growing smirk. He's sounded so reasonable, were he Taji, he probably would have believed it, too. That took care of that, at least.

He pointed to the comm. officer again. "Ready the Second Wave, and assemble all my personal guard in the secondary hanger. You'll find that we have three times the normal compliment of them on board. This is how it should be. Then inform the commander of the Golden Way that he is to do the same with the guardsmen I stationed on his ship. I want all of them ready to launch in twelve minutes."

The officer nodded once, and went to work.

As she did, Charmy left the bridge, his hands clenched tightly into fists.

It was time; he was ready.

* * *

The all terrain vehicle did not provide a smooth ride. Aya Florentine would have preferred a nice smooth cruise over the tree line in a hovercraft, but apparently the kitsune had objected to airborne vehicles in their territory. Which left her 'ground pounding' in one of their ATVs. It was a fine vehicle, really: very sturdy, very energy efficient, and with an amble armament in case of trouble. It was just wasn't what she was used to. It was no surprise that, as institutions, Fleet and the Groundhogs didn't usually get along.

Different worlds.

Still, there was little use complaining about it. Aya just reminded herself of all she had gone through in officer's training, back when the Terran Federation had still been around. In the Fleet, as in all the branches of the Military Civil Service, physical requirements for men and women were equally demanding. 'Body and Mind, hand in hand, both refined to a razor's edge' had been the Academy Motto. Those hard days seemed very far away now, and after all those years of relative relaxation, but had not left her entirely. She still remembered the lessons and the training… the good times and the bad, and it had all shaped her into a better person, of that she was certain.

"Ma'am!" One of her junior officers walked in, holding out several sheets of paper. The one on the top was marked, boldly: 'Top Secret – Theta/Blue Level Clearance or Above' – which meant that it was a fax from HQ. And it was definitely for her specifically, since no one else on the expedition had even mid level clearance.

In fact, Aya didn't recognize any of the women on the expedition.

She shrugged, took the papers (which had been thoughtfully paper clipped together with a black binder), and thanked the young aide. She then put the papers aside for later. Reading in a moving vehicle like she was hadn't really been very problematic in the past, but recently she'd had a series of brief headaches and cramps. There was little to gain in aggravating her senses and body. Any news could wait for them to pitch camp for the night.

Instead, she closed her eyes, and tried to sleep.

A few hours later, still restless from her inability to relax (what was that buzzing sound, anyway? Probably some fan in the back of the ATV), she checked her watch and ordered the small convoy to stop for the night. She checked a map, sent out a radio burst signal, and confirmed their location from HQ. It was a relatively crude procedure, but it was necessary, given their lack of secure GPS satellites in orbit.

Stepping out of the ATV, and looking around at the site they'd picked to stop at, Aya stretched luxuriously, joints popping and fingers flexing. It felt surprisingly good, and she seemed in much better spirits and health than just a few hours before. The next few minutes were spent organizing the group as they set up tents and a defense perimeter. It wasn't like she expected being attacked in the night, but it was SOP (standard operating procedure), so it was followed as a matter of course. Trip wires, alarms, automated defense guns, all were unpacked and set up, though not as quickly as Aya would have liked.

'Why didn't Mastermind let me pick who came along on this little field trip?' Aya wondered, a little moodily. 'Instead I'm saddled with a bunch of civvies and sophomores. Ones I'm not even familiar with. I'll have to memorize some of the crew manifest next time I get the chance.'

She checked her watch again, once everything was nearly finished being set up. It was nine o'clock, local time. That was fine. Aya preferred to keep the group well rested, and travel early in the morning. She looked up, and watched the horizon. It also meant that he was a bit late… typical. She picked a nice solitary spot to relax, and started to read through the report she'd gotten earlier.

A couple minutes later, another aide came by, and explained that they had received a coded radio message from an approaching craft. Aya nodded, and explained that it was expected. A coded reply was sent, with the necessary codes to pass through the defense perimeter with a hovercraft. It appeared soon after, a little speck at first, growing into a larger one man craft – a hoverbike, the smallest military hover-vehicle made by the old Terran Federation. It had little in the way of armament or defenses, but it was fast, and had surprising cargo capacity. It was a scout recon craft, and a good one at that.

Aya quickly straightened out her hair, before tying it into a ponytail at the nape of her neck. Her uniform looked fine, so she didn't worry about that. She watched, as the hoverbike landed, and extended her hand to the pilot after he had shut the engine off, and locked the parking supports in place. He took her hand, and jumped down from the pilot's seat.

"Aya!" he said, happily, and gave her a warm smile. "Great to see you again! How've you been?"

"Nothing exciting, really," she replied, and the two started to walk, side by side. Aya's companion was known as David Weaver, ex-military and now civilian, or as much as anyone in their organization could be called that. He was about her height, five and a half feet (a little short for a male human, actually), with short brown hair, and fairly unremarkable hazel eyes. Compared to her, he was casually dressed, in a traveling coat, brown shirt, black leather boots of standard issue, and cargo pants, no ranks or tags attached.

"Nothing? No massive battles? No kidnapping at the hands of mobian megalomaniacs?" he asked, still smiling.

"Not yet, anyway," Aya replied, also with a smile. "How about you? I'd heard that you'd cooperated with Lieutenant Forge before, but hadn't bothered to come back with him to Tesslik. He must've pulled you away from something juicy for you to want to save a few days' travel."

"He did, actually!" Weaver grumbled, smile fading for a second before returning. "I was in the middle of investigating some uncharted Tappenden Ruins when I got the call. Had to put everything on hold. I asked if they could take someone else, but apparently it just had to be me."

"I'd think chasing down a dragon would make your day," she then asked. "And what's this about Tappenden ruins? I didn't think there was much of anything around here. I figured you were down south in Cat Country when they called you out, not north…"

"First, it was a very interesting experience, catching that thing… Zan, it was called. I'm glad I went, and not just because it was an interesting study, but because it was raising a lot of hell, too. But that doesn't mean I lost interest in my other work." Weaver shrugged and patted his thick leather belt. Aya knew that normally it would be overloaded with tools and excavation gear, the trade of an archeologist and anthropologist.

"As for the Tappenden… well, I suppose I'm not surprised you aren't familiar with it. They were a dingo empire that ruled this shore, right up to the Felix Mountains, after the fall of the First Mogulian Republic. That was around 500 to 600 MC, give or take. Records aren't very reliable from that time and there are conflicting accounts of who founded what and when. In fact, the old 'wood capital' of Dingora is just a hundred miles south of here. But that's already been excavated by mobians – what's left of it, anyway. What I'm investigating is a new site, an old motte and bailey wooden fortress… little more than a mound, now, but I've already turned up some interesting findings and artifacts."

"Really?" Aya asked, not minding his lecturing in the least. She liked to hear him talk. It reminded her of when they were younger. David had known both of the Florentine sisters since before they entered the Civil Service, and Aya had always found his curiosity about the past endearing. Mya had generally found it boring. To many, Aya knew, the twin sisters seemed so alike, even occasionally finishing each other's sentences, but the truth was that they were very different people.

"The fort oversaw a trading village," Weaver explained, and then elaborated. "A trading village that had contact with the kitsune. A 'Jel'Arah' Clan. Luckily, Tappenden is similar to pre-impact dingo, and in the same basic script, so translation wasn't difficult. From what I gather, the village was doing well for itself, and had a close trading relationship with at least two nearby kitsune villages at the time."

"I take it was abandoned with the old Second Republic took over?" Aya asked.

"I thought so at first, but it seems to have been burned down long before that. I didn't find any artifacts that my equipment dated as older than twenty four hundred years." He sighed. "Pity the remains of the fort are in such poor condition. All I have to go by above ground are some stone foundations. All the wood's long since returned to nature."

"Maybe I should just ask what happened," Aya said, as they walked around the inside of the camp's defensive perimeter. "From what I've been given, the kitsune keep extensive records about the past. They're a bit like you in that respect."

"A bit like me, maybe. I've heard… things." Weaver paused. "Aya, you must be careful up there. I can't speak for the modern breeds, but the classical kitsune I've read about have a very dangerous reputation. I don't much like that you're being sent there without… protection."

"I'm a big girl, David," Aya replied playfully. "I can take are of myself. And if I am killed… then someone will take my place, and I will have fallen serving my country and my people."

"Always ready for self-sacrifice," David stated, and frowned. "I never liked that…"

"All those who fight should be ready to lay down their life for the greater good. No one seeks it out, nor are we expect to, but it is a possibility we all must acknowledge. Still, I can understand how you feel… with that GE Program you went through."

David grunted a response, that part of his past still being a bit of a sticky subject. Aya just walked with him in silence for a little while. While David Weaver had gone with her to the Academy for officer's training, and he had finished with high marks (less than hers, but still high), their lives had followed different paths soon after. Weaver had joined the Marines, and then GUN, after the fall of the Federation. Though she, too, had been a part of GUN in the Station Square Years, but the Fleet was kept under a separate arm of the organization, while the Marines and Army had consolidated.

During that time, Weaver had volunteered for one of the "GE" Genetic Enhancement programs under the auspices of the Advanced Research and Projects Directorate. Mya had been a part of that outfit, but Aya's twin had denied any knowledge of David being one of their test subjects. For his part, Weaver had been given a fairly standard gametically neutral 'genetic package improvement' to increase theoretical combat effectiveness. He'd run special operations for several years, as they evaluated the improvements they'd made, and when they'd finished their analysis, he retired to civilian life. He was one of many with a similar story.

Then Weaver noticed the papers under Aya's left arm.

"What're those?"

"These? A bunch of different things." Aya held one up, and gave it to him. "That's a reply from Mya and Mastermind. Apparently, they're putting off instituting a new Crèche for another year."

"Another year?" David took the two sheets of paper, and looked through what was written. "Why?"

"Dunno. A delay of 'nine to twelve months' they say. I've been petitioning for a national crèche system for almost two years. Now that we've settled in a general area, we need to start repopulating as fast as possible. A crèche, like in Station square – but more secure of course – is a first step."

Weaver nodded, still reading the report.

"Station Square's crèche could flash mature someone in six years. We're going to miss out on an entire generation because of their delay on this issue. The demographics of it scare me, frankly. The mobians, even the echidna, have already had their baby boom. We're outnumbered a thousand to one. In a generation, that may become ten thousand to one. These are not good odds, when the next war breaks out."

Weaver's eyes widened as he reached part of the report. "You offered to build one using the Military Budget?"

Aya looked up at the darkening sky. "I thought the problem was funding. Between Mya's experiments, Mastermind's… eccentricities, rebuilding the city and the economy, you can see how stretched thin the budget is. So I offered to build one, a small one, for military personnel who want to reproduce. As it stands, I just can't afford to give anyone leave to have a kid the natural way, so the crèche is the only option."

"You know, most parents who raise a child in a crèche regret it," David handed the report back to her. "Many clinical psychologists believe the child-parent relationship forms and cements during early childhood. There have been studies, back during the later years of the Federation, that point to flash maturation as a cause of familial dysfunction."

"I don't have nine months to waste carrying some little kid to term, much less the twelve years required to raise him enough for the state to step in. Of course when a national crèche is set up, I'll be among the first to donate eggs, and I'll gladly assume responsibility for any children I have, but the natural system is inefficient and wasteful."

"Even if it means only visiting your child once every two months, between maturation cycles?" he asked, and she shrugged again.

"If you want to go through the natural process, be my guest. Just don't expect me to." Aya scoffed. "Mya wants to do it all-natural, too, which I always thought was strange. My kids will be graduating and commanding ships in the Fleet while hers are still trying to master the common language. That's progress!"

"To each his or her own. I doubt our forefathers would have approved." Then he saw the other paper Aya had, the one labeled Top Secret. "Lemme guess: reports on the War?"

"You guessed it." Aya didn't hand this one over for him to look at. He never expected that she would. They were close, but he was still a civilian. "Looks like the Hives did a lot of damage, too. I assume you've seen the news about it?"

Weaver nodded. "That I did. Even out here I at least get the mobian stations."

"This is mostly classified data about the _Manifest Destiny_ and the Dingo situation. Also some stuff about old King Acorn our boys and girls in Intel found out."

"As long as we don't get involved. Are we… getting involved?"

"Not if I have anything to say about it. We have more immediate concerns than a foreign adventure on the other side of the world." Aya brushed aside a long bang of hair that had fallen in front of her left eye. "This is probably my last report for a while. I'm going to be outside secure communications range by early tomorrow, if I'm not already."

Weaver tucked his hands into his pants pockets. "How long will you be gone?"

"A month at most, I think."

The two were silent for a few seconds.

"Do… Do you want to do something when you get back? Maybe take a quick trip somewhere warm, like the South Seas? I'm sure you've got some shore leave saved for a rainy day, right?"

"You know that'll depend on how things are when I get back. I'll need to check on the construction and the new officers…"

"They can survive for a few weeks without your tender care, Aya," he said, and slowly reached down to hold her hand. "I swear: the Fleet is your baby. No wonder you're in no mood for another one."

She squeezed his hand, reassuringly. "Everything'll be fine. I'll be back before you know it."

"You sure you don't want me to come along?" he asked, as if it had been the whole point of him driving out here.

"No men allowed, I'm afraid. Apparently these kitsune have some very specific gender roles, and they didn't want any 'threatening males' on their land."

"Just Aya Florentine, and her troupe of Amazons?"

"Ex-Act-Ly." Aya poked him in the chest, and pulled him along. "Let's get something to eat."

"Oh boy, MREs…"

* * *

Running.

He had been running.

Yes, that was right. Running. From… from someplace cold. There was snow, a blanket of white, everywhere. It was cold, but he felt hot. Every hot. And his legs hurt. He blinked. He was awake.

It was bright.

Too bright: he couldn't see.

"Don't open them. Not yet."

"t... ta...ils... ..."

No, that was a memory. A memory of his friend, of the past, of just a few months ago, when he had been alive. When they had almost been killed by Robotnick's Flying City. He closed his eyes anyway, heeding the old advice.

And he remembered.

He had been running, yes. From the resort town, where the Ice Cape Zone Games were being held. He had ran east, following ships, some sort of enemy. His legs – they hurt so much, and he felt feverish. He had his Emerald in one hand, his perfect blue Emerald, and it kept him going. It was like a cup of ambrosia, and he drank deeply from it as he ran, letting its power keep him going.

He remembered now, seeing a city in flames. No: not a city. A complex of buildings, near the lake, with other different buildings around it. Everything was on fire. It was night, but as bright as day, lighting up the night for miles. In the water there were ships, burning, some sinking. Yes: that was it.

He had been too late.

And overhead, he saw them: innumerable shapes, thousands of them, darting around in the sky, in and out of the large blimplike things. But there was one other, a different ship, that cruised along with them. It was angular, long, of a technology different from the creatures Sonic had battled. He winced, remembering the anger and sadness and pain.

He had been too late.

At the sight, his spirit had left him deflated and defeated, and in that moment, the Emerald had abandoned him as well. The power retracted back into the brilliant gemstone, and everything had gone dark. He had been too late. Too late.

Sonic groaned, and opened his eyes just a fraction. The light above him was still bright enough to hurt his eyes, but after a few harsh seconds it died down. He shifted in his bed, and threw off his white sheets, eager to see why his legs felt so numb. They were still there, thankfully, and as he flexed his toes, he confirmed that they were still in operational condition.

Still, there was a lingering pain in his calves and thighs. He saw the white linen wrapped all around and down his left leg and remembered what had happened. Poison. Of course. He reached behind him, hand slipping past his un-flexed quills, and found a bandage on his back, in a section that had been embarrassingly shaved hairless. Poison! How humiliating.

Stretching his legs, he reached down to his left arm and pulled out the intravenous feed tube that was now feeling uncomfortable. It bled just a bit there before the wound closed up. He had to find out where he was. Looking around, he saw that the room was hardly bare. There was an expensive looking wooden dresser, and several finely rafted oak chairs. The room had a fresh paintjob, and the part o the walls that connected the ceiling had a beam of wood with engraved motifs. He recognized them instantly. They were a mixture of leaves, many sporting acorns.

"Impossible…" Sonic said, softly, and rolled off the bed. "How can... how long have…?"

He pushed against the door, then caught his senses, and turned the handle. There were no automatic doors in the residential part of the Palace. Sure enough it opened, and outside were two royal guards: a squirrel and a fox, who reminded Sonic of Antoine.

"The King," Sonic said, his voice hoarse. "Take me to the King."

"Sir…" the vulpine started to argue.

"Now!" Sonic snapped, and saw the other mobian frown and nod.

"Inform Captain D'Coolette that the Package is in motion to Throne Room," The Royal Guard said to his fellow guard, and then inclined his head to Sonic. "This way, sir."

Sonic followed the guard, annoyed by the stiffness in his left leg. He wanted his shoes. He wanted his Emerald. Source Almighty, he wanted his Emerald. Where was it? What had happened? He had to know. Sally would tell him – she definitely would – and he suspected that the place to find her was around her father the King.

Walking the wide halls, Sonic confirmed that this was probably the Grand Palace, which meant that he was back in Mobotropolis. Unless this was the Summer Palace, which was the 'old' one built in Knothole, but he doubted that now. The architecture was all the same, but he could hear the distant sound of construction. It had to be Mobotropolis. Night and day, one could hear construction going on in Mobotropolis.

Finally, they entered a hallway Sonic remembered. It was the Hall of Kings that Maximilian had commissioned. When it was complete, it was supposed to have busts of all the old Kings in alcoves along the walls. He had been told that, near the end was a spot reserved for his likeness in stone, for when he became Regent-King. Sonic had mixed feelings about that, but he remembered the hallway. Now he knew where he was.

But how?

How had they gotten him back here so quickly?

They entered the Throne Room from a side door, but there was obviously something already going on. Aside from the King, seated on his Golden Throne, Sonic saw the Queen, seated to his left in a smaller throne, and Sally in a even smaller one on the King's right. The King had his usually stern look on his face, while Sally looked extremely incensed at something. In front of them were two individuals obviously giving some sort of presentation. They had music playing, too, which was odd in both its context and subject matter.

Ya face down, fucking the streets,  
Cause when the 44 barks,  
Sharks, Street Sharks,  
Cuttin' down cops and narcs,  
Shorty Dog be laughin'  
Gaffin' Smackin' Clappin'  
Happenin,' Shorty's Forty wants trouble,  
I'm a Dog, Bitch, make dat order double,  
We ain't gonna run from no tool,  
Fool, You be sleepin' in a pool,  
Of Blood, narc!  
When dey smell me comin'  
The street school bitches start runnin'  
Tail between dey legs,  
But dat ain't all,  
Ha Ha!  
Dat ain't all!

The record cut off with a click.

"This is but a sample of the degeneracy that plagues our streets, not only those of Casino Night, but even here in fair Mobotropolis. These so called lyrics are clearly inflammatory, in this case glorifying the murder of officers upholding His Majesty's Laws. Others in the 'record' I have here speak of homosexuality among mobians…"

The tall, lanky Minister named Comstock sneered, as if the mere word was distasteful, but continued, "Also present are references to illegal activities, such as Ginger smuggling and peddling, not to mention actual abuse of the drug. There are numerous references to prostitution and racketeering, and innumerable uses of offensive slang for certain unmentionable female body parts. And that is not the worst of it. The so-called 'song' 'I Want a Hairless Bitch' speaks of … intercourse of a type I will not justify with description. I am certain the humans have banned this record in their territory, if only because of this one unspeakable depravity. Until now, this 'Shorty Dog' has been a vulgarity, but now we have decided that his vile work can not be allowed to continue."

"The Ministry for the Prevention of Vice and Deviancy has upgraded him to our Black List, which we are now ready to present to you, Great King. All those on the list before you are as similarly reprehensible as this 'Shorty Dog,' if not as popular and well known."

Frederic Comstock was a tall ground squirrel, with a prominent moustache and a receding hairline. His associate then stepped forward and after a brief bow, began to speak. He was a rat, and looked the part. A long hairless tail twitched behind him, and his little black nose never stopped moving.

"My King, if I may speak?" The rat asked.

"You may… Mr.?" The King didn't seem concerned by the list on his armrest, and didn't give it so much as a glance with Sally reached over and took it for herself.

"Doctor Anthony Wertham, your Majesty. Ah, Minister Comstock has recently appointed me as Sub Minister of the MPVD. It is my job to screen literature for counter-ethical and anti-social elements, and to enforce the Protection Laws involving 'obscene, lewd, or lascivious' context."

"Go on." King Max prompted.

Wertham rubbed his grubby little hands together. "Ah, we have been very busy of late, as you know, my King. The printing of subversive, inappropriate, or anti-social literature has recently skyrocketed. The problem stems from independent printing enterprises, rather than established printing houses, most of which duly submit to the Royal Code of Conduct. Ah, well, the problem is really disloyal individuals with access to advanced methods of literature production… computers and the like. This was not a problem before the war, or even during it, but it is endemic now. It is the individuals producing this work that we should be targeting, if we want to truly put and end to it."

"Our Standards of Decency and Codes of Conduct must be adhered to, lest we undermine all we fought and died for," Comstock added.

"Who do you mean by we, Minister?" Sally growled from her seat, on the right hand side of the King. "I don't recall seeing your name among those who held the city of Knothole. I don't recall seeing either of you going on missions to beat back the Combot Legion."

"Princess," Comstock answered, in an obviously condescending tone. "Our job is to preserve the peace, not to win it…"

"How fortunate for you that the peace was so handily won, that you may go about RAPING IT!" Sally actually stood, and in one motion tossed the Black List in Comstock's face. It missed, hitting his chest, the papers bearing lines of names and offenses falling at his feet.

"Sarah!" King Max barked, angry.

"How DARE you!" Sally hissed, pointing at the two Ministers. "The rest was bad enough… but a Black List? Five pages of names… over two hundred mobians! First you censor them, and now you want to send them to DIE in a labor camp! For speaking their mind!"

"You are overreacting, Princess…" Doctor Wertham spoke up, one fat finger in the air. "Indecency must be…"

"And who made you the arbiter of right and wrong?" Sally snapped. "I know those who fought and died for this country, for this Kingdom… for their rights as citizens! Who gave YOU the right to…"

"Enough." King Max said, his voice commanding. Sally turned, as if to argue the point.

"Father…" she started.

"I said: **Enough**." Max held out his hand, and she held her breath. The fury never left her eyes, or her body, however.

"The one who gave that right to Dr. Wertham was me, when I appointed Mr. Comstock as Minister of the MPVD. As King, it is my job to appoint those who I feel advance my policies, and it is I who determines the rights of those under My Rule. The speech of my subjects shall not be allowed to include that which offends me. Like a cancer, it must be excised; cut out." King Max's brow was knitted together into a deep scowl. He saw Doctor Wertham bending over to gather the papers, and again held out his hand. "No, Doctor. This was a mess created by my daughter. She shall now accept the consequences of her rash actions. Won't you, Sarah?"

Sally's knuckles were almost white, her fists were clenched so tightly.

"Won't you, Sarah?" The King repeated. Next to him, Queen Alicia looked away, sadly, and Sally instantly knew she wouldn't get any support from her dear mother.

"Yes. Father." Sally stepped down from the Royal Dais, and the chair intended for her brother. To Sonic's speechless surprise, he saw her bend down, and start to gather the papers as Comstock's feet.

"W… wait!" Sonic rushed forward, heedless of protocol. He had been so surprised by the whole series of events; he had almost forgotten what he had originally come here for. Running up to Sally's side, he started to grab at the papers, letting her stand up and preserve some of her dignity. To his left, Sonic heard a discontented grumble from the King.

"Sonic…" Sally whispered, her voice thankful and relieved: probably not because of his help, but just because he was awake and ok. Sonic suddenly felt more than a little guilty for making her worry while he was gone. Bunching the papers together, Sonic took a quick look at them, and saw a long list of names, from top to bottom. He didn't recognize any, and none stood out, but that didn't mean they weren't real mobians. Like his friends. Like his family.

He handed them to Sally, and his hands felt dirty.

"Your Murder List, Father." Sally handed it to the seated sovereign.

With a small golden pen, the King signed his name to each of the papers. Minister Comstock quickly reached up and took them, and seemed ready to make a hasty exit, save that the King had not excused him. So he and Dr. Wertham stood still, and waited. Sally took her seat, and Sonic stood next to her.

"Now…" The King finally seemed satisfied by the arrangement. "In the future, I wish the List separated by offense. I want a different list, a separate list, of those guilty of subversive speech, rather than that which is merely morally offensive."

"My King?" Comstock asked, a little surprised by this request.

"There has been much trouble in the Southlands. Republicans and Socialists, Anarchists and Religious Fanatics. They gather in growing numbers and defy my authority. They attack my soldiers."

"No doubt endemic of the social fabric breaking down, sir!" Wertham quickly added his spiel.

King Max rested his chin on is gloved right hand. "I believe it had less to do with ethics, and more to do with politics. My enemies gather in the Southlands, and the humans and echidna arm them and incite them to acts of rebellion. They must learn that my rule there is as strong as it is in Mobotropolis. I wish the MPVD to monitor the situation for political deviance as well as the usual offenses. Use whatever means you deem necessary. Contact St. John of my Secret Service. He is in charge of criminal investigations in that area. You have one month. Show success, and I will bless you with my favor. Now go."

"Your Majesty." Comstock bowed, as did Wertham. Then the two left, a little more quickly than normal. As the large Throne Room doors closed behind them, there was a blanket of pregnant silence.

"You disappoint me, Sarah," King Maximilian said, after a few seconds. He didn't look down at his daughter. "Have you learned nothing in the time spent observing Mr. Comstock?"

"Only contempt!" Sally sent back, her tone now both angry and hurt. "Father… how could you…"

"I am growing weary of your libertarian leanings, Sarah. Very weary. I oft worry for the future of this Great Kingdom, which has survived eight hundred years." Max's tone was cold, and Sally looked away in the other direction. Sonic felt like saying something, anything in her defense, but he had no idea what.

"Max…" Queen Alicia began.

"No, Wife!" Max slammed his fist on the throne's armrest. He was about to continue, when he covered his mouth and let out a few wet coughs. Then, he took a deep calming breath. Without another word, the three Royals mutually decided to change the topic of conversation.

"Sonic," Queen Alicia said, picking a more neutral topic. "How do you feel, dear?"

"Well… Better." Sonic rubbed his left arm, his finger brushing over the spot where the IV tube had been inserted. "But what happened? How did I get here?"

"You were wounded by one of those Quaz Xialjyet soldiers. But I guess you know that." Sally reached out, and gently covered his hand with hers. "The echidna found you outside the Angel Lake battlefield, barely alive. There was some kind of poison in your system. A lot of other echidna were also suffering from it, but they have you a transfusion and some kind of anti-toxin, and when you stabilized they sent you off island and back here. They said it was a miracle that you were alive to begin with, with the wounds you had and all the venom in your body…"

"The Emerald, Sally. It kept me alive. It saved me." Sonic said with absolute certainty. "I wouldn't be alive now if not for it. Where is it Sally? Where is my Emerald?"

Sally balked at the question. She looked back at her parents, and then faced him again.

"It… its gone, Sonic."

Sonic's pupils shrunk, and he pulled away from her. "No!"

"I'm sorry…" she offered.

"NO!" Sonic shook his head. "NO! I have to go back!"

"Sonic," Queen Alicia said, carefully. "That was a week ago, I'm afraid."

"A week?" Sonic shook his head, harder now. "Who… who took it! WHO TOOK IT?"

"Sonic!" Sally cried, and reached for him, but he kept backing away.

"I need it, Sal. I _need_ it!" He clenched and unclenched his hands, almost imagining it safely nestled in his palms, his fingers wrapped protectively around it. He gulped, and started to laugh, little shallow sounds without mirth. "I need it… I need it…"

"What's wrong with you, boy?" King Max finally spoke. "You're acting like some Ginger Monkey without his fix! It is unbecoming."

"You don't understand…" Sonic said, and trailed off. "You can't."

"If you want another Chaos Emerald, then go out and get one. This Court has had enough hysterics in it as it is." King Max motioned for them to leave. "Return to your bed, boy. You obviously need to rest."

"I…"

"Come on, Sonic," Sally said, and suddenly she was at his side. Sonic stiffened a bit as she wound her arm around his, but then relaxed. He calmed, and felt better for her proximity. Rubbing his temples, willing away the confusion and panic, Sonic's rumbling stomach broke the tense atmosphere of the Throne Room.

"We'll have the chef make your favorite. Come on," Sally urged him on, and the two left the room by one of the side doors. Sonic quickly regretted his behavior just a minute ago. How could he get so hysterical over an Emerald? He'd collected and used them many times before, and he'd never become attached to any of them, even after they had saved his life. He thought about it rationally and decided that there was no reason to feel that way, but the empty hole in his heart cried for it: his shiny, perfect blue Emerald.

"Sonic, are you feeling alright? Maybe we should…"

"No, I'm fine. Just a bit… confused, I guess. That place that was attacked. Last week? Was it really last week?" He asked, amazed.

"It was, Sonic." Sally looked at him with those deep, rich eyes of hers. Sonic could feel her concern for him. It felt… good. "You've been here four days, and you were in Echidnapolis for three."

"What happened there? Who was it?" Sonic narrowed his eyes, remembering the lives lost in front of his eyes. "Who killed those mobians?"

"A group calling itself the Quaz Xialjyet. They released a statement to the other continental powers, stating their intentions to 'reclaim' Angel Island."

"They were… Charmy's kind, weren't they?"

Sally nodded. "Charmy is one of their leaders."

Sonic didn't reply at first. Instead, he just stared forward as they walked, a hard look in his eyes. He seemed to be deep in thought, and Sally didn't bother him. They walked down a hall and rounded a corner. Leaning slightly against her, Sally saw Sonic reach down with his other hand and feel the bandages around his left leg.

"He did this to me…" Sonic said, quietly, barely a whisper. "He knew I was there, and he sent those things down anyway. He killed those echidna, and he tried to kill me, too."

Then, something else occurred to the blue hedgehog.

"Wait. Wait. What about Red?" Sonic asked, suddenly. "Is Knuckles…?"

"We don't know," Sally admitted. "Not even the Chaotix know. He just disappeared."

* * *

Lara-Su had no idea what to do.

She sat at the counter, nursing her Argylean Tea (extra sugar), and counting out the meager funds she had left. It was enough to last another week, if she stretched it out, thanks mostly to the difference in inflation between her time and this one. Still, that didn't bode well. Previously, she had only spent a day or so in the past; just long enough to play whatever role the cosmic fates deemed necessary.

Now…

Now she felt left out of the loop. She'd arrived in a nice secluded spot, clothes and equipment present and accounted for, but by the end of the first day, she'd quickly realized that her 'quest' here had not been made very obvious. The Wise Man had sent her back so that she could fulfill her lifelong ambition of 'saving' her father, but how she was supposed to do that wasn't very clear.

The tea was hot and sweet, a constant between this time and the one she had grown up in. Soon after realizing her dilemma, that first day, she had hastily purchased some room and board. The attack on Angel Lake had been all over the news, which meant that she had arrived just as the war started. That was good. It meant she had plenty of time to do what she came here for.

At least in theory, anyway. In practice, she hadn't had much luck. Her father, the Guardian, was reclusive enough as it was, but now no one had seen him or any of the other ex-Guardians who supposedly showed up in times of crisis. There was talk of the Guardians 'abandoning' the Island. This wasn't how she had been taught things turned out.

She had spent the next few days searching and came up empty-handed. When she ran out of money, then what would she do? It wasn't like she had that much knowledge of the future that she could invest in something and become rich overnight. More than likely, she'd have to get a job. Except… she had to valid identification, references or records. She hadn't even been born yet!

"I could claim I was from Albion… or Echidnograd… or hasn't that city been founded yet? I should've brought a history textbook with me." Lara-Su took another sip of her tea, and sighed. "What am I going to do?"

Someone sat next to her, and she gave him a quick look. He wasn't echidna – that much was instantly obvious – rather, he was a mobian. A vulpine. Medium build, dark orange fur, bright blue eyes. He smiled at her, and she felt something constrict around her heart.

"Hey there," he said, in a smooth voice.

She blushed, and stammered for a response. There was something about him.. something powerful and enticing. She had never thought of herself as flighty or anything like that, but the more she looked into his eyes, she more she saw something special. It captured her. He almost glowed… golden… She shook her head, and smiled back. It was then that she noticed the three bangs that came down over his face, partially obscuring his right eye.

Behind him, she saw… one tail.

He leaned in closer.

"I only let the other one show for special occasions," he whispered. Lara gasped.

"Are you…?"

"The one and only. Let's find someplace private to talk, hmm?" He quickly paid for her drink, and took her hand. His touch was electric, and something else she couldn't place. No: it was a little colder than she had expected, even with his gloves on. She didn't think much about it, as he led her out of the coffee house, and down the street.

Lights, people, everything just blurred by, and Lara found it harder to think clearly. She heard music, getting louder and louder – some sort of night club. A part of her, once totally in control, wondered what was going on. The rest, now the largest part of her, just went with it, and rode the wave of heat that was suffusing her entire body. She distantly saw a large mobian and a line, but a few words from her companion and the burly crocodile bouncer stepped aside compliantly.

There were lights everywhere, and a drowning ocean of sound, loud and oppressive. The ground seemed to shake with the beat, and Lara felt a press of bodies all around her. Still, the grip on her hand was strong – so strong, and as she tried to focus her eyes, she could see the glow from her companion growing brighter and hotter. She watched, numbly, as they came to a door, chained shut.

Her companion tore the chains away with one hand.

"What's…" she finally managed to try and ask. "Mmf!"

Instantly, her back was to the wall, and she felt his lips on her own. It felt good at first, very good. Like a drug. Then it became more forceful, and Lara realized that his lips were not as warm as hey should have been. Something was wrong, but her mind wasn't working right, and she couldn't tell, couldn't grasp at the obvious. His hand slipped under her shirt, and it was colder than before – it slipped past her breasts, pausing at them for only a moment, before the fingers reached the Guardian's crest below her neckline. He pulled her shirt down, and stared at the white crest with a hungry look.

"Poor… stupid… little Guardian…" The fox's face looked up at her, bright blue eyes sparkling. High above, a crescent moon shone down into the dark alley. "Why are you here?"

"I… I don't…" she struggled a little, all in vain. He held her pinned to the wall, and ducked his head down to her neck. She felt little bites, and sharp teeth.

"Don't fight me. You will tell me what you know, or you will scream it…" her captor spoke calmly, and Lara felt that power grip her heart again. For just a second, it stopped.

"Now," he asked again. "Why are you here…?"

"Oh!" Lara felt his hands move, they were cold and hard now, but still electric. Her mind buzzed like a colony of insects. "He sent me… The Wise Man…"

"Wise Man. Who is he? What is he?"

"I thought… you were… a fox, a kitsune…two tails…"

"Milessss," the fox hissed. "Why are you here? For what purpose?"

"My father," Lara moaned. "My father! I came to save him…"

The vulpine before her shook his head slowly. "Foolish girl. Your father belongs to the Master, now. No one can save him. No one can save you."

"Who… are you…?" Lara began to see, finally, through the illusion.

"I am Mulciber, God of Rogues, Lord of Masks… Once, despite my best efforts, I was one of you paltry mortal beasts of weak flesh and blood. My enemies thought me trapped, but the Master freed my body and my mind... Now, I am a GOD – free to indulge myself and my deserved desires…" Again the fox smiled, but now his perfect teeth were a mad assortment of yellowed spikes. Lara tried to scream, but her voice caught in her throat. Before her eyes, the bright blue eyes turned yellow-gold and began to glow like the fires of Hell.

"By the time I hand you over to the Master, you will be little more than a gibbering mass of broken meat. He will Devour all you are, but I will have the first taste…" A long serpentine tongue flicked out of the creature's mouth, and ran along Lara's lower jaw. She closed her right eye as it worked its way over her cheek and up to her temple. A millisecond later, Lara winced as a spray of blood, green and red, covered her face.

The grip on her disappeared, and she fell back, sliding numbly down the wall. For a second, she wondered if she was dead… then she saw movement on the ground next to her. It was the long forked tongue, cleanly cut off, and flopping on the ground like a fish out of water. Another form stepped out of the shadows, a fox like the other one, but with two tails, and a single midnight blue eye, bright and fierce like a fallen star.

"It is not a taste of her you shall find here, Lord of Masks." The newcomer's voice was tenor, and belied strength beyond the physical. "Here… you shall know only my wrath, and this place will be your grave. "

"You little bastard… Do you think that because you defeated that old robot and that weak clone you're a match for me?" Mulciber snarled, blood trickling down his lower jaw. From his back, an unearthly golden glow sent currents of energy down a black sinewy body, as terrible tentacles and onyx spikes grew out from every angle.

"I'll bring you to the Master…" The monster called Mulciber flexed its new and terrible appendages. "In a hundred bloody pieces!"

Lara could only watch, stunned, as the two closed and the battle was joined.


	17. Summon Up The Blood III

He could see them.

His mother was huddled behind her sofa, poorly lit by candlelight. For all her inner strength, she was not physically formidable, and her ragged appearance didn't hide the tremble that ran through her body. Something outside shook with a muffled boom, and the ceiling rained down chips of dust and plaster. Her apartment was the same as he had always known it, but now in the dark it took on the appearance of a prison.

Another explosion, closer, and the walls shook.

His mother reached up, and took hold of a lamp, holding the length of metal to her chest. There was something outside, something turning the doorknob. His mother looked panicked, and cringed as the door was forced open. Something small by her side cried, and he could see a small face, like his own, swathed in a brown sweater.

The door flew off its hinges.

"Lara! Lara!" Julie-su, he recognized her with a pang of longing, stormed in. She had a piece of cloth wrapped around her left arm, and it seemed stained with blood. Her black and blue combat outfit was whole, but worn, and speckled with dull red. Tight in her right hand, she held her usual plasma pistol, at chin height. Most shocking were her eyes – they looked unfocused, distant, and desperate.

"Julie?" Lara slowly stood up, and dropped the lamp to the floor. She replaced it with her son, whose crying had quickly turned to repressed sniffling.

"Where's… um…" the younger echidna female seemed to search for the word.

"Wyn?" Lara asked. Julie nodded, quickly.

"He… He went outside." Lara offered. "He…"

"I'm sorry." Julie cut the older female off, and her tone of voice left the fate of Wynmacher, in her eyes, never in doubt. "Lara. We have to go!"

"Go? Where?" Lara shuddered, as the building shook from another distant blast. "There's nowhere to go! The ports are all destroyed! And the Kingdom…"

"The Dark Legion still has transports. They're going to try sneaking through the blockade. I… I'm going with them. You have to come with me! We have to hurry!"

"But…" Lara licked her dry lips, and looked down at her young son. "Oh Mace…"

Then she nodded, and the two left, leaving an old life behind. The shelling outside became louder as they raced down the stairs, and mixed with the punctuated sound of weapons fire. Some of it was automatic, most was characteristic of energy weapons – air bangs and hisses. Then, there was the distant sound of screams, the last moments of the dead and dying.

They emerged into the streets of Echidnapolis.

What he saw then, what greeted Julie-Su and Lara-Le, was a ruined and broken city, buildings smashed and pavement cratered. Fires burned untended behind the gaping faces of half collapsed skyscrapers, and the sky was black with smoke, as small explosions created short lived clouds high above the city. Julie seemed about to say something, when a loud screech cut her short. Her eyes went wide as saucers as something approached from above, fast and terrifyingly lethal.

"Save them!' A voice hissed, and Knuckles awoke with a gasp.

His mind returned to the present, though not with as much relief as he would have liked. He wiped the cold sweat from his brow, and leaned back against the wall. His back and neck hurt, and he could see that he'd accidentally knocked over a pile of papers by his side. In front of him, a small fire crackled in the blackened shell of a waste bin. His nose twitched, as he smelt what was cooking over it on metal spits.

Across from him, on the other side of the fire, a man sat crosslegged, pressing a knife to his cheek as he shaved. He looked up at Knuckles with one brown eye, and one pure black, encased in a rim of metal.

"Food's not quite ready yet," he said, and closed his eyes, a metal sheath making due for an eyelid in one case.

"Unh." Knuckles grunted in reply, and sighed.

"Same as always. I'm surprised you get any sleep at all." The overlander named Hunter spoke in a halfway amiable manner. Knuckles remembered it as the same tone of voice Hunter had used before he had announced his intentions to hunt the Guardian of Angel Island for sport and entertainment.

"I'm fine. Though seeing you sleep like a baby turns my stomach. 'No justice under heaven,' and all that." Knuckles crossed his arms and looked up at the ceiling. He wasn't sure how long he'd been stuck underground. There was no way to keep time, and he slept erratically.

"Some would say, 'Trouble Dreams, Troubled Soul.'" Hunter quoted, and grinned just a little.

"The only one with a 'troubled soul' here is you," Knuckles answered, but Hunter remained totally unapologetic. Knuckles had meet him for the first time over two years ago, when an old foe of his, Monk, had returned to Angel Island. Hunter had shown up around the same time, paralyzed the Guardian's sensor network on the Island, and explained to Knuckles his idea of recreation. He hunted the two enemies, and killed Monk. Knuckles had stopped him because of his former foe's sacrifice, and Hunter had spent the next two dozen months in stasis under the watchful eye of the Guardians.

Now he was free, and Monk was still dead.

Along with who-knew how many other of Hunter's victims.

"Anything happen while I was asleep?" Knuckles asked. Hunter was still the only company he'd had for… days, at least. It wasn't like he could ignore the overlander.

"It'd been quiet tonight. Only two of the little critters came to check on us. I took care of them both quietly," Hunter said, as he drew the knife up his left cheek, and around the metal that framed his cybernetic eye.

Knuckles eyed the black chunks of meat roasting over the fire. Ventilation underground was still working perfectly, so the smoke wasn't a problem. The smell, however, would linger. And cooked Chaos critters smelt almost as bad as they tasted. Even after being cooked to a crisp to destroy whatever plagues the little demons probably had in them.

Knuckles rubbed his eyes, and looked down at the papers piled around him. They were notes from the four labs that they had bee able to gain access to. A lot of it was old, or overly technical. Still, Knuckles had spent hours looking through it for some clue to what was happening, or what had happened, to Haven.

"Are you sure you didn't see anything, anyone, when you escaped?" Knuckles asked, though he knew the answer.

"I didn't see any of your compatriots, no. I only escaped because those little things were chewing up the stasis controls." Hunter cleaned off the knife's edge with a rag, and put it down. E ran his hand over his jaw, and frowned in dissatisfaction. He looked just as Knuckles remembered, with his moustache arching to reach his jaw line, and his hair short and curved back. The gray along the sides made him appear old, despite his excellent physical condition.

For a few minutes, the two sat in silence.

Both were out of ideas on how to escape. To a degree, Hunter seemed content to last as long as he could and then die when his time came. Knuckles, however, still held out hope. He had people to return to, a life to lead, even if Hunter didn't. He had to escape, and if possible, set things in Haven right again. While Knuckles thought to himself, Hunter carefully removed the metal spits, and let the meat on them cool.

They had done this before: go hours without saying a word to each other. Hunter didn't seem to mind, and maybe once Knuckles wouldn't have either. Both were loners. But Knuckles was also curious, and he had friends now. He was used to having someone to talk to at least, even if he usually wasn't in the mood for conversation. He needed something to distract his mind from his reoccurring nightmares, ad his current plight.

"Hunter." Knuckles said it, not so much as a question. "Is that your real name?"

The overlander didn't open his eyes from where he sat. "It is. Marcus Hunter is my name, Knuckles."

After a few more silent seconds, Knuckles pressed onto what he hoped was a more interesting topic. "Alright, Marcus. What happened to your eye?"

"You mean this one?" Hunter reached up and stroked the metal over the upper left side of his face, under his long eyebrows. "Well. If you must know: I lost it."

Knuckles waited for an explanation. And waited.

Hunter half sighed, half snorted. "It was during the war. Not the war with Robotnick… the war with the Kingdom. With the mobians."

"Lemme guess. Extermination Squad?" Knuckles inquired, with a scowl.

"Hardly." Hunter opened his eyes, but looked down at his hands. "I served at the home front. Internal Defense and Counter Insurgency."

"Counter Insurgency?"

Hunter nodded, just barely enough to see. "As you probably know, those mobians who surrendered or were otherwise captured were usually put to work. Those sent back to overland for this were neurologically tagged. This made them docile enough to use in large numbers without needing a large military presence to act as guards. However… the tagging procedure wasn't perfect. A small number of mobians, after three to nine months, went wild again."

"You mean they regained their free will?" Knuckles asked, disgust evident in his voice.

"You could say that. They ran away and started causing trouble. Sometimes, they managed to hook up with Mobian commandos that had snuck into Overland. They were too few, and too weak to target military facilities, so they tried to terrorize the civilian populace. Sometimes… they kidnapped children, from schools or backyards. We always found them in the end. Never alive. Not once."

Knuckles looked down at that. "So you hate Mobians? Is that why you hunt them?"

Hunter looked at Knuckles briefly, and shook his head. "A lot of my comrades lost it after a while. IDCI had the highest turnover rate of any arm of the military. I heard that a lot of them did request transfers to Black Squads. I suppose they wanted revenge… but… I didn't. I never hated mobians, even after I saw the depths of their cruelty and viciousness. A cornered animal tries to draw as much blood as it can before it dies. This is only natural."

"So I hunted them then, and I was good at it." Hunter continued. "Very good. It didn't matter to me what they had done or would do. I hunted them. Sometimes it was dull, and sometimes it was challenging. They gave me awards for it. They called me a hero. Still, I never thought of myself that way. I only did what was natural and normal. I never needed to justify it. One day, I was tracking a number of mobian commandos. They were holed up in an old warehouse… four of them. They rigged half the building with explosives, but kept a hostage alive to encourage some sort of rescue."

"Cowards." Knuckles growled.

"So we moved in, a whole squad of us. I wasn't used to working in such a large group. But the higher ups handed us a real demolitions expert. This guy could disarm any explosive. A real pro. We moved in quickly from the roof. Took the whole building in two minutes. Everything seemed to be going perfectly. We had just finished disarming the bomb around the girl – the hostage – when something went off on the first floor. I never saw what blinded me in my left eye. I blanked out, and next thing I knew we were back in the air. I learned later that the demo expert, a man named Thorndyke, pulled me out."

Knuckles stared at Hunter with a serious expression. "Thorndyke?"

"Nelson Thorndyke. Strange name if you ask me, but all the… pureblood humans have names like that." Hunter finally noticed the way Knuckles was looking at him. "What? Not the story you were expecting?"

Knuckles shook his head. "No. Was… was this Thorndyke married? Did he have a son named Christopher?"

"Yes. Yes he did. How did you know that?" Hunter asked, giving Knuckles his full attention.

"It was after our fight," Knuckles explained. "I had to go off island for almost a year. Robotnick found out about Station Square and…"

"He found Station Square?" Hunter interrupted. "How? How could he?"

"Way I hear it, Sonic and Tails found it when they were chasing someone called Naugus. I wasn't there at the time. After they found it, Station Square started sending out teams, taking covert action in the war on Mobius Major. So Eggman started combing through Overland to find the source of the problem, and found it. I can't say exactly how."

"I wouldn't have gotten involved then either, except for the Master Emerald. Someone named Rouge tried to steal it from me. I thought she was working for the Eggman, but in the end I found out she was working for Station Square. I left the Master here in Haven, and went to investigate the trouble in Overland. Sonic and Tails were already there fighting Robotnick once he made his move against the city."

Knuckles reached over and took one of the kabobs, which were now cool enough to handle. He continued: "There were a few of us. Amy had run off to impress Sonic, and sometimes there was this strange mobian named Big… but all of then mooched off the Thorndykes. They had this kid, named Chris, who had a real hard on for Sonic. The kid was everywhere, always getting involved. I wanted him to stay at home, but his parents were never around, and Sonic just didn't really care what happened. Tails stayed there for a while, too, before he left to work by himself in Mystic Ruins. He disappeared for a while, and did a lot of work with GUN. He started building things… No one knew where the money was coming from. But one day he added guns to that plane of his, and then missiles, and then some sort of beam cannon."

"Chris seemed happy once Tails was away doing his own thing. I didn't drop by too often, but I can tell you that the kid was annoying. And clingy. For a while Eggman seemed to be having fun playing around, feeling out the city defenses. Then GUN started to crack down, and things get serious. He didn't have the resources for an all out attack, I don't think, so he raised this creature named Chaos out of the Master Emerald. Supposedly, it was the same Chaos creature that had destroyed Dingo City centuries ago, and Robotnick unleashed it on Station Square."

Hunter listened with an intense look on his face. "It was destroyed, wasn't it?"

"That's the strange thing." Knuckles tentatively took a nibble at the very well done meat that would suffice for this day's meal. "The city was flooded and evacuated, but was still mostly intact when Sonic transformed and destroyed Perfect Chaos. Afterwards, Robotnick tried to nuke the city, but Tails stopped him. It was after that. There must've been some kind of accident. Everyone who could just left. Sonic and Amy went back to Knothole, and Tails followed soon after. I don't know what happened to the Thorndykes, but I believe Chris was killed. Probably when the city flooded."

"Chris…" Hunter said, and frowned. "I remember him as a baby. Nelson and Lindsay Fay's boy. I never figured a pureblood rich man's son like that would fall in with you furries."

"They weren't around much. They might not have survived either. I don't know. If they're anywhere, it'd probably be with that group under Mastermind."

"Who now?" Hunter asked, and also took his food. "It seems I've missed some interesting news topside."

"You don't know the half of it." Knuckles bit into the charred flesh, and winced with distaste. Then, remembering his dream from before, he wondered. 'And maybe… neither do I.'

* * *

Even through the thick walls of the nightclub, the pulsing music blared with a chorus of base beats and electronic chords. Lara-Su's world was a haze that had yet to lift, but the music was as loud and clear as ever. Her back to the cold wall, she could feel the drumbeat pass through the concrete and up her spine shaking her to the core. If anything, it seemed to become louder. Then the music stopped, for an instant, and a new track started up inside the club. 

Lara blinked, and missed it.

In that heartbeat moment between darkness and light, it happened, and she missed it. Instead, Lara choked back a scream as a tidal wave of blood passed over her, sticky and red and hot. Like a canvas of new age art, it painted half the wall behind her in glistening crimson, the force of it all slamming the back of her head to the wall hard enough to make her see stars.

"Aurora preserve me…" she whispered, her entire body covered in the stuff. In that one instant, the dark alley had become a slaughterhouse. It wasn't just the blood; liberally sprinkled around were assorted limbs, some identifiable, others like alien tentacles. Those lay strewn and curled on the ground, like dead snakes. With a wet splatter, the remains of a torso hit the ground; all jagged broken bone and split entrails.

A second later, the smell hit her, and Lara felt the need to empty her stomach.

In the middle of it all, a dark shape, a body and two gently swaying bushy tails, stood, arm outstretched. In the lack of light, the creature's right eye glowed malevolently, highlighting contours of its body. The music picked up in tempo, but the creature stood deathly still. Then, it turned in her direction, and she could see the face of a fox – far from the demon she had expected, but far from friendly. No: the look on the fox's face was analytical, and then, slowly, viciously satisfied.

"No." The vulpine's arm lowered slightly. "That was too easy."

It had happened so fast – Lara opened her mouth to try and speak, but something cut her off. Near her feet, she saw the tongue – that monstrous creature that had taken her's tongue. It twitched. Then, impossibly, amid the horrific carnage, she heard a laugh. On the ground in a pool of blood, the disemboweled torso moved, the head pivoting on a split and broken neck, a growing smile on what had once been a handsome vulpine face.

"Striking with all your power and without hesitation… So full of righteous fury and the desire to kill swiftly. What a cruel boy you've grown up to be, Tails." The head asked with a mocking tone. "What would your precious Princess think of it, I wonder? Are you that eager to take life now, hmm?"

"You." The other fox, Miles, hissed back. "You should be dead."

"I can't much say I like this New Tails," the Head replied, still laughing, its severed tongue sticking out between sharp teeth. "So, I will now show you the true Lord of Masks!"

Flesh and skin slouched off the face, the skull and color restructuring and reforming. Wet sounds came from the other severed limbs, as they too began to change and grow. In seconds, the head grew the face of a female, a familiar one, with long red hair and crystal blue eyes – the visage of a certain Princess of Acorn. Swells on the butchered chest developed into breasts, and with an explosive splash of red and white, arms and legs popped out, fingers flexing and curling.

"What…?" Miles' face was one of pure disgust, as his eyes, one blue the other black, looking back and forth, as more misshapen forms pulled themselves up off the ground. The first among them, in the form of Princess Sally, got to its feet, and with a loud crack, the back and neck reset.

In seconds, she stood before him.

"Sally." Miles narrowed his eyes, his anger now easily evident. Without moving his head, his eyes searched to his left, and then his right. "Rotor. Bunnie. Antoine. Mina. Knuckles. Rouge. Sonic."

The fox slowly smiled, lips curving back to reveal sharp canines. "Is this some sort of joke? None of them could hope to have the power necessary to slay myself. I could easily just ignore them and focus on you, 'Princess.' And next time, I'll remove that Chaos Emerald of…"

"…of Mine?" Mulciber-Sally asked, a topaz glow emanating from her back, and from the backs of all the others puppet bodies.

"A fine trick." Miles sneered, and rolled his neck around, splaying out his hands. "But you'd have been better off with identical bodies. I won't play your game. All I want is for you to die."

Lara didn't blink this time, but even with her Chaos Enhanced senses, she barely saw him move. Miles rocketed forward, his feet and tails a blur. Twenty feet from where he started, he stopped, his hand outstretched, and the center of an expanding cloud of red mist. The Sally-body he struck twisted and bent, hitting the wall behind it and falling to bloody pieces. Miles' hand quivered from the power of the blow.

"oh my god…" Lara gasped, eyes wide and amazed.

"Agh…." Miles made a distasteful sound, and looked down at his arm. It was still shaking, and Lara saw to her shock that bits and pieces of it had begun to flake off, like dried up paint. A black brown liquid, more like bile than blood, oozed out from cracks in the 'skin.' Behind him, another of the puppets chuckled.

"So. The Master's suspicions were correct." Mulciber-Rouge's wings flapped behind her. "How does that old saying go? 'The spirit is willing but the flesh is weak.'"

"How literal minded." Mulciber-Sonic smirked.

Miles looked from the annihilated remains of Mulciber-Sally to the other puppets, a clear look of surprise on his face. "How…?"

A new track stated in the club, and the ground began to vibrate just a fraction. No more words were exchanged in the alley, however, as the Mulciber puppets charged. Miles twisted his body, his hands raised. The fake Knuckles reached him first, trademark fists swinging through the air in fast jabs. Miles blocked the first one, the result being a small cloud of fur and false flesh exploding from the strain on his hand.

Without showing even an instant's surprise, he shifted tactics, and swatted the rest of the blows away. Only four more came before the puppet revealed an opening, and Miles took it, lunging with his palm flat. The tips of his fingers entered the fake Knuckles' throat and fanned out just after the instant of impact. With a spray of gore, Knuckles' head came clean off.

Pivoting to his side, before the puppet's body even hit the ground, Miles avoided a glowing blue electron whip, courtesy of a creature in the guise of Bunnie Rabbot. His attacker laughed as she lashed back and forth, a hit finally registering when Miles paused to catch the sword blade of the fake Antoine. A long gash opened up on Miles' back, just below the shoulderblade.

"Where's that sweet red blood, hun?" The Bunnie puppet pursed her lips into a pout. "Like the kind ya'll used ta have?"

Miles snarled, and twisted his hands. Between his palms, caught in the 'butterfly,' Antonie's sword bent, and with a snap of the wrists, Miles ripped it out of the coyote's hands. In one smooth motion, it was in the air, spinning head over heels. Bunnie's eyes widened just a millisecond before the blade lodged itself in her forehead, and pinned her to the wall. She made a high-pitched howl, kicking and screaming, as she tried to pull it out of her own head.

Meanwhile, Miles was dancing between Rouge's kicks, and a giant wrench Rotor wielded like a club. Nearby, Antoine's upper torso hit the ground, arms flailing wildly. Ignoring the bloody display, Miles backtracked up to a wall, and jumped. Rouge also went airborne, while Rotor over swung and hit the wall, his wrench catering and removing several large chunks of concrete. Miles' upward momentum, however, was suddenly cut short as his tails spun. Lara watched the incredible feat of aerial maneuver with disbelief. He had jumped up with his feet, and driven himself back down with his tails, the exact opposite of what she or anyone else had expected.

Rotor barely had the time to move his head, before Miles' feet crashed down with the force of a thunderbolt, tails spinning like helicopter blades. The fake Freedom Fighter barely made a gurgle before his face met the pavement, and splattered under the pressure. The ground cracked and split from the power of the attack, and Rouge, in the air and out maneuvered, could do little to avoid Miles reaching up and grabbing her left leg.

She screamed, and her wings flapped furiously, as Miles tried to pull her down. Amazingly, she just managed to get him off his feet, when she started kicking to free herself. At the same time, Sonic and Mina closed the distance, the latter wielding a long length of metal pipe. With his right leg, Miles kicked aside Sonic's super spin attack, deflecting it just before it could develop killing momentum. Sonic spun in the air; his balance lost, and hit the wall with a thud. Mina, meanwhile, swung once, twice, and finally connected with Miles' leg near the kneecap with a loud crack.

Fighting one battle with his right leg, trying to maintain his balance with his left and his tails, Miles struggled with Rouge in the air. She kicked like wild with her free leg, and hit Miles in the right shoulder and face, before he finally managed to get hold of her ankle. Visibly shifting his balance, he snarled with effort, and pulled back his arms before sapping them out wide.

Rouge's legs snapped like kindling.

Tucking in his legs, and spinning his tails as Rouge continued to flail in midair, Miles kicked off the wall nearby. Mina, on the ground, tried to avoid the spinning tails as they suddenly advanced on her, but she was a moment too slow, and she lost her left arm, and then her upper body. The mongoose girl's remaining lower torso spasmed and fell to the ground, apparently lifeless.

A second later, Rouge slammed into the ground. She desperately covered her face with her arms, but Miles' knee descended without mercy. Her arms broke under the single overpowering onslaught, and an instant later, so did her face. Miles, however, was too late to avoid the Sonic puppet's attack to his back, as a blue blur sped by. Now, Miles hissed and fell forward, a clean gouge all across the width of his upper back.

Another blue light flew through the air, and the kitsune rolled to avoid it. It was Bunnie, the sword still impaling her head, screeching and swinging her organic hand back and forth. The electron whip Miles had designed and installed in her glowed fiercely as it cut through the air, the bladed flechettes suspended in a magnetic field sectioning anything in their path. Miles pushed off the ground with just his hands, and was on his feet in a second, ducking his head and then turning to the right, as the whip curled and sliced through the air.

Nearby, the Sonic puppet chuckled, and clasped its hands together. An electric charge seemed to flow through him, and his quills stood on edge. With a flash, Sonic's color changed to a bright gold, and he became engulfed in an incredible aura. He stomped his foot, and the ground shook.

With a mechanical growl, Bunnie's electron whip retracted back into her organic arm's forearm band. She made an annoyed face, and shook her finger in apparent vexation.

"What's wrong, sugah? Not having fun?" She asked coyly, index finger to her lips.

"Now, now, Bunnie. Maybe he just didn't like his dance partners." Mulciber-Super Sonic grinned so widely his back teeth were visible. "You know, I've always been a big believer in process of elimination… so…"

Around Miles, move forms started to rise from the remains of the apparently defeated. Dark shapes and limbs, growing and stretching and spreading. In the middle of it all, Miles started to laugh, his blood-drenched body trembling. At his feet, pools of blood bubbles and boiled.

"That's it, Tails! That's it!" Mulciber-Super Sonic cheered, clapping his hands eagerly. "Let us see this power of yours!"

Then, a calm fell over the lone vulpine.

His arms lowered, and he let out a deep breath.

"No. No… I'm outnumbered enough already, thank you very much. I don't need any more of your Master's spineless slaves butting in on a one on one, man to man fight." Miles' wiped a bit of blood off his left eyelid.

"Slaves? Was that supposed to hurt my feelings, now?" Mucliber-Sonic asked. "We are all slaves… to our own weakness, even to our strengths, if not to any worldly master. You should know this, Tails. Before you became what you are now, you were a slave as well. A slave to that damn Princess, a slave to your so-called Freedom Fighters. A slave to the world in which you lived. That was why you had to end that war by your own hands. It freed you from one fate, and delivered you into the hands of another."

"Besides!" The fake Sonic continued with a smile. "With power like this, with immortality at my fingertips, servitude to another is a small burden."

"Heh." The fox once known as Tails smirked. "A slave with golden chains. You've fallen pretty far… but for someone with no face to call his own, I suppose this suits you."

"No face to…?" Mulciber-Sonic's grin faded slightly. "What do you know?"

"I didn't recognize it at first. It really does smell like I'm drenched in the blood of everyone I once cared for…" Miles smirk never faded. "That was a bit distracting, but still I wondered: how can I keep killing these bodies, but never severing your connection to your emerald? Sure, there are two of you left from the original batch, but I suspect that if I destroyed both of you now that it wouldn't get me anywhere."

"So you think you've figured me out?" Mucliber asked, apparently amused.

"I think I'm close," Miles said, and continued with an even tone. "The Emerald isn't in just one of you. Each and every one of these little puppets of yours has a bit of the Emerald in it. When I first realized that, though, it also confused me. It would mean that these were not simulacrums in the real sense, but extensions of your mind… tied as that is to the Devourer's Golden Chains – the Chaos Emerald he gave you. To control all these bodies as you do is an amazing and impressive feat, beyond the multitasking abilities of anyone I know…"

Mulciber seemed pleased by the praise. "Don't think you can flatter your way out of this, Tails."

Miles held up a finger. "Ah ah ah. You didn't let me finish. I should have said: almost… anyone I know. There is one individual, three once great minds made into one. Into a creature with no face of its own. You see: I can appreciate the irony with which the Devourer picks his servants. And I am impressed with what you have pulled off here… Ixus Naugus."

Bunnie cocked her head to the side. "So ya'll figured it out? Not bad, sugah."

"Now, use your full power, Tails!" Mulciber-Sonic's eyes flashed a bright white. "Die by this 'faceless' one's hands, or by those of the Master. The choice is yours!"

"You should never have left the Zone of Silence in which you were imprisoned, Naugus. How the Devourer tempted you into this fate… I don't know. I don't care, either. I don't find and joy in taking life, for me it is a means to an end, but I am a Sword, and a sword has no regrets. Those in my way… those who oppose the future I bring…to them, I will grant only swift and merciful death!"

Miles went down to one knee, and plunged his hand into the ground. Mulciber's puppets and Lara-Su all watched in surprise, as the ground around Miles' fist began to twist and change, faint crackles of Chaos Energy kicking up dust. Then, just seconds later, Miles stood, and in his right hand hung a gun – black and gray, like three bars of solid soot welded together. It was huge for a one handed weapon, fully as long as Miles' forearm from elbow to wrist.

Miles leaned back, and groaned, as his body changed. From his chest, black metal emerged, crossing from the right side of his waist to his left shoulder. On the other wise opposite his neck, his shoulder bone seemed to break the surface of his skin, before growing and turning to polished gunmetal. Metal plate erupted from his outer thighs, and his red and white shoes disintegrated as metal greaves took their place – greaves the sides of which flexed and un-flexed with folding-retracting rockets.

"Aaaahhh…" Miles licked his lips and faced Mulciber-Sonic and Bunnie. "Were the circumstances different, Ixus, I would finish you with my Chaos Judgment. But I'm afraid a more vulgar approach is in order…"

One last shiver went through Miles' body, and from each shoulder, two lumps grew until they took on the form of birds, perched on their master, red eyes staring, searching, hungry. The birds changed color from tan, the color of Miles' fur, to blue. Two squawked, and another flapped its wings experimentally.

"Flicky birds and a… gun?" Mulciber-Sonic's grin became impossibly wide, and he laughed loudly. "Is this the best you can come up with?"

Miles tilted his head slightly. "I know. I know. Last time we fought the little birds were enough, but I decided to play it safe this time."

Mulciber's smile became a deep sneer. "You… You aren't Turbo Tails… you don't have that hedgehog to save you, and I'm not in that weak body anymore! You stupid child! I'll cut through that fake body of yours all day… as long as it takes to find that sweet meaty center!"

As if on cue, another track started up, and the fight was on. To Mulciber's surprise, Miles charged head on. Bunnie's whip flashed out, as the disruptor cannon on her other arm popped out and locked in place. Miles stance lowered as he charged, and the flicky birds flew off his shoulders. The Bunnie puppet cackled with glee as she struck, aiming to take his head off, her electron whip a spiral of death. But at the last second Miles pulled in his left leg, and turned on his back, his tails spinning horizontal to the ground and just inches off it.

"Die!" Bunnie yelled between laughs. "Die DIE DIE DIE!"

So focused was her aim with her cannon, what may have been a killing blow, that she didn't see the fast blue shapes that fell on her. They came and left in all of a quarter second, and then the fake Bunnie saw only darkness.

"NO!" Mulciber-Sonic snarled, as he lunged for the birds, just a second too late, his two arms inadequate to fend off three much less four of the creatures. They flew by Bunnie's face, and her eyes were gone. She screamed, and fired her disruptor cannon. It went wide, blowing a deep cylindrical hole in the ground. Sonic shifted to intercept Miles before he could attack her, but he misjudged.

Miles slammed into the Super Sonic puppet with the same killing strike as before. Super Sonic was made of sterner stuff than the fake Sally had been, and simply fell back, every internal organ reduced to the consistency of wet pulp. Miles' left arm damn near exploded from the blowback of the attack, as whole strips of pseudo-flesh tore free and fell to the ground, but he paid it no heed. The other puppets were already closing.

Immediately, he ducked in close and came up behind the shrieking Bunnie duplicate, a sword still embedded in its head. He locked one arm under Bunnie's own, and wrapped the other to hold the other arm in place. Her whip started to retract, but before it could, Miles pointed the end of his new handgun to her armor plated head.

He fired, and a 20mm HEAT round splattered the puppet's head like a tomato.

"I need this," he said, simply, and wrenched the arm out of its socket. The electron whip was still half extended, and stuck that way, so Miles made full use of it against the charging horde. He decapitated an Amy puppet, and blew open the ribcage of a Vector duplicate. A Mighty copy punched the ground, to create a smoke screen, and succeeded just a second before he slid in half across the chest.

Miles silently cursed, and threw Bunnie's arm into the fray, where it lopped off one of King Acorn's arms. Then the kitsune fox was in the middle of it all, ducking under a chaos-empowered punch from his old mentor, Nail, and back flipping to avoid a flurry of bladed shuriken from Espio. Charmy zoomed in from above, and Miles twisted to avoid his stinger before nailing the smaller creature in the face with an elbow. Charmy hit the ground at an odd angle and with enough force to easily rip off his delicate wings.

Then Espio was in Miles' face, short bladed weapons flashing as he attacked. Miles avoided the first set of strikes, then batted one right into the other and taking both out of the way. He lifted his foot high, planted it in the chameleon's face, and brought it down with a resounding crunch. A spray of gunfire rained down, as a red and gold robot stepped forward, mini-gun arms spinning eagerly.

"You can do robots, too?" Miles asked, and groaned. "Great."

"You only delay the inevitable, boy! As the Lord of Masks, I am INVINCIBLE!" Mulciber-Omega opened up with his chainguns, the air filling with lead. Miles was already in the air, and then against the wall. To Lara's shock (as if she wasn't already), she saw him running her way. The Omega-puppet just kept firing, mowing down a Remington who couldn't get out of the way quickly enough. Before she could even say a word, Miles scooped her up in his arms, jumped down to the ground, and tossed her into the air.

The last thing she saw before the world devolved into a mad spin was Miles jumping off another wall and landing on top of the robot. Covered in drying blood, sickened by sights and smells, Lara flew through the air, completely disoriented. She tried to gain control of her momentum and summon the power to glide, but lately her Guardian-related powers had been erratic and on the fritz. Like before, trying to use the power granted to those of her line by the Master Emerald left her feeling sick (or in this case, sicker). Her quills straightened for only a moment, but not long enough to catch any air.

So she tumbled.

Only her internal sense of balance told her when she started to descend again, and she spread her arms to try and control her fall. It wasn't particularly helpful. Landing in the alley-turned-warzone was only a little worse than plowing into one of the nearby buildings. She adjusted herself to brace for impact, but twenty feet from the ground an orange blue intercepted her.

"Get down and don't move." Miles told her, and threw her aside after they hit the ground. He was rough, and she hit a wall, but they avoided a flurry of glinting steel that would have turned her into kibble and bits. Miles skidded to a stop nearby, his back to her. He wasn't breathing hard, but his body was turn in dozens of places, and visibly wounded in dozens of others.

In front of him, another kitsune fox twirled a long polearm with a silver blade at the end. He was Miles' color, or close to it, but had black tips on his tails and black chest fur. To Lara's surprise, he had two tails. Another kitsune! The blade sang through the air, crisscrossed in front of the black and tan kitsune, before cutting a half circle in the ground at his feet.

"Ah hahahaha!" Mulciber-Tempest laughed madly. "Are we having fun yet? Well? Are we!"

Behind the fox, an Eggman puppet emerged, at the helm of a Mini Egg Walker. Next to it, a pink colored echidna Lara recognized as her mother – Julie-Su – advanced, a plasma pistol spinning in her right hand. A somewhat damaged Metal Knuckles seemed to be getting to its feet, as a bloody Shadow cracked his knuckles. A Nack puppet in the background already had its rifle leveled at Miles, while a hulking dingo with a metal gauntlet on his right hand chuckled menacingly.

Miles looked over his opponents.

"What?" he asked, lightly. "No Snively? Now I'm really insulted."

"Stupid little foxboy." Mulciber-Eggman growled.

"I'll tear that smile off your face!" Mulciber-Shadow added.

Miles' eyes darted back in forth, and his four servitor flickies flew nearby. Two were almost entirely covered in blood, making them more red then blue.

"As if I'd let myself lose to a faceless, weak willed abomination like you…" Miles' voice was serious, now. Amazingly, despite all the carnage that had gone on, all that really remained were the bright splashes of blood on the walls and the (admittedly deep) pools on the floor.

"Shut up and DIE!" Mulciber-Tempest lunged, and Miles slid to the side. The polearm was fast, however, and so was its user. Before the blade even arrested its forward momentum, the bladehead, horizontal to the ground, flowed into a slash. Miles' lowered his handgun, and the black metal met the glinting sharpened steel, stopping it cold.

Mulciber-Tempest sneered in rage, and seamlessly moved to attack with the other end of the weapon, which while blunt, was weighted down to do extra damage. Miles avoided the blow by leaning back, and lowered his shoulder before a blast of laser fire could cut into it. Shadow and Metal Knuckles came in fast, and Miles avoided the latter while redirecting the former back at his copy of his kitsune mentor.

Metal came back from behind Miles, trying to slash him with metal claws before attacking with his forearm lasers. Miles spun, knocking aside Metal's arms with his Tails before they could get a bead on him, and knocked aside another of Shadow's chaos empowered fists. Shadow swung two times, and dropped back, replaced by Tempest.

The larger kitsune attacked again with his polearm, the deadly weapon slicing through the air as Miles dodged or blocked with his handgun. The young vulpine's eyes went back and forth, and his flickies tore through the air, swooping down on Nack, Julie-su, and Eggman, keeping them occupied. Miles jumped up and over Tempest, and barely avoided General Stryker's blunt attempt to punch his face off. Stryker's glowing gauntlet passed through the air, and Miles tripped the large dingo puppet and sent him sprawling.

Lara could see it while Miles fought.

He wasn't making the killing blows like before. Was he getting tired? It was a possibility, she supposed, given all the fighting he had undergone. Not only that, but he was facing several undeniably powerful opponents. Stryker, however, had left more than enough of an opening for a more aggressive sort of counter attack. Lara had undergone enough training to see that. What was he thinking…?

Miles was in the air again, his left arm smoking where a laser beam had finally connected. His new rocket assisted footwear kept him in the air while he maneuvered with his tails, sparring back and forth with Shadow and Metal Knuckles. He had his handgun tucked back in his belt, and was fending the two off hand to hand. Shadow spun, his quills tearing into Miles' right hand, and removing a pinkie finger.

Miles hit the ground and went right into a roll. During the motion, he reached behind him, and grasped his new weapon with a damaged four-fingered hand. Shadow and Metal Knuckles landed, one behind the other, in the same formation Miles had maneuvered them into with his fall. In the air, the four flickies swept back their wings, and went into a steep dive.

'All my energy, Ixus.' Miles thought as he took aim. 'You want it? ENJOY.'

Miles leveled his 20mm hand cannon at the off balance Shadow. The kitsune mentally selected a different sort of ammunition, and it self-assembled in the cannon, feeding off his chaos energy. Shadow started to raise his arms to protect himself. With a resounding boom, the gun fired, but what left it was no HEAT round.

A depleted uranium penetrator left the barrel, and a fraction of a second later, the hollow interior lined with rocket fuel ignited, forming a ramjet. It shot forward, creating a series of micro sonic booms, crackling with slowly accumulated chaos energy. It went clear through Shadow's right arm, cleanly severing his ulna. It emerged briefly back into the air before entering the puppet Ultimate Lifeform's skull. As it passed through layer after layer of brain matter, it sent out waves of heat and concussive force, liquefying everything nearby. Greenish lances of residual chaos energy finished the job, decoupling opposing chaos energy.

The penetrator exited the back of Shadow's skull, traveled several feet in a barely measurable instant of time, and encountered Metal Knuckles. Despite being made of sterner stuff than flesh and blood, Metal Knuckles' armor gave as the head of the round entered through a damaged section of his upper torso and passed through his secondary plasma regulator. The casing there was ceramic and it shattered like an egg shell. The bullet had a harder time exiting Metal Knuckles' body, as it left through an armored section of the back, and deformed slightly. Nonetheless, it punched through, and continued on source.

Twenty feet away, and another inconsequential amount of time later, it met another fleshy target. This was the lower jaw of Mulciber- Tempest. Despite the thick bone present, there was no obstacle for the bullet as it continued on a straight course, burning and blasting flesh into paste and bone into powder. It exited through the fake kitsune's body just to the left of his first vertebral disk.

From there, it encountered only a foot of concrete, which was easily penetrated, and several layers of dry wall. Moments later, the bullet was high over the ocean surrounding Angel Island, about a mile in the air. The ramjet had died down half way to that height, and it continued on a lazy arc, gradually slowing and falling to splashdown in the cold waters of the Tranquil Sea.

Long before that, however, the four flicky birds had finished their nose dove. Julie-Su had been the first target to be encountered. She had been firing at the bird for some time, but had no luck either hitting it or avoiding it. That particular flicky had little trouble lodging itself in her chest cavity, beak-first, and exploding. Once again, a mixture of heat, concussive force, and chaos energy had destroyed flesh and bone while nullifying chaos energy.

The Nack puppet had fared only slightly better, as he tried to block the flicky with his weapon. The bird exploded prematurely, but still with sufficiently deadly force. Nack was blown to pieces, regardless. Similarly, the fake General Stryker had tried to ward off the attack with his gauntlet, with identical results. His body had remained more intact than Nack's, but overall that was not saying much. Eggman had the best chance of survival, as the flicky had only partially penetrated the armored glass of his mini walker. The explosion, however, caused the robot to stumble and fall forwards, crushing the cockpit under several tones of burning metal.

Still crouching, Miles slowly lowered his smoking gun, a haggard and exhausted look finally on his face. With obvious effort, he stood, and looked around, waiting. Nearby, Lara held her breath. In front of her, Tempest's body slumped to the ground after wobbling back and forth for a few seconds. Shadow lay motionless in a pool of blood. Metal Knuckles was on his feet, the top half of his body sparking and on fire. There wasn't enough of Nack and Julie-Su left to full a baseball hat. General Stryker remains smoked slowly in the dark. Eggman's crumbled mini walker also slowly burned, the metal red-hot.

It occurred to her: in the fraction of time it had taken to kill all seven Mulciber entities, there had been no time to mentally formulate the rebuilding of a new body. Still, she waited, and watched. The alley already stunk of blood and entrails, but now it smelt like cooked meat. Surprisingly, her overused gag reflex seemed to have gone into shock. She slowly got to her feet.

Miles was still watching the bodies.

Finally, his eyes settled on something shiny, in a pool of blood near Shadow. Somehow, out of the shallow pool, rose a large topaz gemstone. Lara recognized it instantly.

"One of the… Angel Island Emeralds," she said, and approached it.

"Wait." Miles' voice was still commanding, but noticeably weaker. He walked towards the gem, and held out his hand as if to touch it. To Lara's confusion, his hand began to tremble as it got closer, until he pulled back with a pained hiss. She looked at him in surprise.

"What…?" she started to ask.

"It burns me..." Miles looked down at her. "I cannot carry it. And neither can you. Not yet."

Lara's eyes widened in fear. "What? Me?"

"That is why you are here," he said, his voice slowly gaining strength. "I had never imagined something like you would be my First, but it appears destiny has a sense of irony."

"I don't understand…" Lara tried to explain. "I don't…"

His eyes were unsympathetic. "I am sorry, but I must ask you something. I must ask you if you wish to return to your home, and to the world you knew. Only I can do this, but the choice must be yours."

"I… I…" Lara-Su took in the horrors still around her and straightened her back, resolving her will. "I have to get home. I have to. I'll do what has to be done."

"You should know: I hate time travelers. You arrived on a tide of my energy, and force my intervention." Miles looked down at her, and smiled. "Still. You are strong. You will do."

He raised his right hand, and formed a fist. "So it will be done."

And in one swift movement, he buried his hand into her chest. She gasped and squirmed, impaled on his arm. Tears in her eyes, her voice failing her, she tried to pry herself free, to no avail. Then, as quickly as it had happened, he withdrew, and she was free. Lara stumbled, falling to one knee. She took a ragged breath, and pulled back her overshirt. There, just above her white Guardian crest, imbedded and almost invisible against her red fur, was a tiny ruby red jewel.

"How disgusting that I must make use of my enemies' vile methods…" Miles' expression softened. "Are you alright? I didn't hurt you, did I?"

"It feels…" Lara felt a new power within her, similar to her old Guardian abilities, but purer. More energizing. "It feels incredible! A little itchy… but incredible! Is this…?"

"It is. The First of My Emeralds." Miles blinked, and his eyes took on a kinder shade. "Please. What is your name?"

"You… don't know?" The echidna girl asked, and then chided herself. Why would he ask if he did? "My name is Lara. Lara-Su."

"Lara… named after Knuckles' mother. I see. Well, Lara, I now swear to you that I will not abuse the trust you have given me. And… for what it is worth… I am sorry things turned out this way." Miles' eyes wandered, searching the shadows. "Now. Take the Emerald."

Lara gulped and felt the urge to argue be pushed back into the recessed of her mind. Like before, there was something about this kitsune's presence that did not simply overawe her – rather, it compelled her. It was almost as if he were a valued confidant or mentor, whose words were to be valued about all others. She reached down, and scooped up the topaz gem. It was warm in her hands, and thankfully the blood simply slouched off it without leaving so much as a hint of a stain.

She still cradled the Chaos Emerald in her hands. His eyes narrowed again, and she felt that one bright blue eye bore into the gemstone in her arms. If anything, the hatred he felt for it seemed to far surpass that he had displayed for Mulciber.

"Follow me. Quickly," he said, and started to walk. She fell in step next to him. In the alley they left behind, burning bodies and metal slowly melted and disintegrated. Soon, there was little left but black ooze and shadows. An hour later, out of one of those shadows, a large form materialized. Heavy set, and framed by twin tusks that arched majestically in the air, the figure in a large brown suit was unmistakable – the last of his kind in thousands of years.

"Tsk tsk tsk…" Mammoth Mogul tapped his walking stick in one of the puddles of decaying slime. "Who does my Former Apprentice think he is, naming these stray dogs after my Acolytes? It makes an old man question the state of the world, when someone like you, Ixus, can claim the mantle of Lord of Masks."

There was no response, and Mogul inspected the goo on the end of his cane.

"I suppose you got what was coming to you. It is distressing, however, that you were unable to drag that boy's full power to the surface. Now he managed to escape and slink back into hiding. With the future girl no less. Tsk tsk tsk. Very sloppy."

Mogul sighed, and dipped his cane back in the slime that was once Mulciber, God of Rogues, Lord of Masks, and the former Ixus Naugus – Magus Supreme and Chief Hierophant of the Kingdom of Acorn.

"Worse still, the boy made off with one of the Emeralds." At this, Mogul smiled. "No doubt the boy is using the future girl as a pack mule. You couldn't have at least killed her before you died?"

In Mammoth Mogul's chest, a gemstone glowed, reminding him who was Master and who was Slave. He traced it with his left hand, and raised his cane off the ground with the other. He stared at the viscera, and wondered.

"To live as a slave… no matter the circumstances. That is something all the exceptional individuals of the world rail against. Never in a life of mistakes have you or I made one worse than that which ensnares us now, in life or in death. Have you found release in death, Naugus, or is your soul still burning in the Devourer's maw? Maybe we'll find out, you and I?"

The tusked mobian stepped carefully over a blackening puddle of blood. Looking carefully, he spied something interesting, and bent down to pick it up. It appeared to be a small severed pinkie finger. Mogul stood and examined it.

"Tails. Miles. I can feel your lingering power here. Why did you leave this? As a message? For me?" Mogul looked down at his chest, and the Emerald that enslaved him. For almost a minute, he was silent, and said nothing. Then: "Are my thoughts my own?"

No answer was forthcoming.

Propping the cane up over his shoulder, Mammoth Mogul silently strolled back into the darkness from hence he came. In his wake, the alley burst into flame, bright and hot and climbing high into the sky. By the time the authorities arrived to put the mysterious fire out, there was nothing identifiable in that dark, bloody alley that had become Ixus Naugus' unmarked grave.


	18. A New World Order Interlude III

**THE CYCLE OF AGES**

_**A NEW WORLD ORDER**_

**Part 3**

**Here lies a toppled god  
His fall was not a small one  
We did but build his pedestal-  
A narrow and a tall one.**

**- Tleilaxu epigram**

* * *

It was a small unassuming house in the middle of nowhere.

It was here that the fates of nations and peoples were decided, and it was here that forgotten truths remained recorded. Outside the house, it was brisk, and flurries of snow fell, adding to the thin crust of white that threatened to enshroud the world. Shielding his eyes against a brief gust of wind, a lone figure in a traveling cloak approached the humble abode, pushing open an old wooden gate attached to a small fence. He expected it to creak, but it was surprisingly well maintained, and made no sound.

Answering an unspoken summons, Nail pushed forward.

Holding his thick cloak tight against his chest, he stepped up onto the front porch. Behind him, a small brass-colored wind chime swayed and made little noises. Otherwise, it was quiet. There was a visible chimney attached to the house, but no smoke, and no lights or apparent electricity. He reached for the door knob, but reigned in his impatience, and knocked.

Only a few seconds later, the door began to open. What slowly revealed itself as the home's owner proved to be an elderly vulpine, in a dark blue cloak. He was wholly unremarkable in all physical aspects, for a mobian fox of his apparent age, from his coloring, to his snow-white beard. He wore an unusual rosary around his neck, but otherwise there seemed nothing truly unique to this individual.

Nail was about to apologize for the interruption, when the fox smiled, slyly.

"Come in. We have much to discuss, you and I." Something in his pale blue eyes unnerved the young echidna. "And… you want to know where your mentor is, don't you?"

Nail blinked in surprise. "How do you know…"

"You're letting in cold air. Please. Come in." The fox stepped aside, and motioned for his guest to do just that. Nail gave the old mobian a quick look, and took two steps forward. A doormat at his feet read:

'Cleanliness is Next to Godliness.'

Nail quickly removed his wet sandals, made of woven straw. They were largely heel-less, hand made in the 'ashinaka' style that the Lost Tribe of Echidna had picked up somewhere on their long exile. Next, he hung up his traveling coat, and felt firsthand the warmth of the cozy little cabin in the woods. And, though he had seen no smoke outside, a roaring fire in a richly fed fireplace snapped and crackled. Inside, everything seemed to be of well-carved hardwood, and an impressive library held a storehouse of written knowledge.

Moreover, there was something dreamlike about the place.

"You want to see Athair, don't you?" the old vulpine asked, and ail pivoted to face him.

"Who are you?" Nail asked, and his host just smiled amiably. "What is it about this place?"

"The reason you feel at ease here, Nail… is because this is the home your inner spirit is returning to. For the first time. As for myself…" The fox gave a polite inclination of his head. "I am Merlin."

"Merlin." Nail looked up at the ceiling, and took in a deep breath of air. It tasted cool, and sweet. Still, he could not let himself become so enraptured by the atmosphere and the palatable aura of the place that he forgot his reason for coming here. Or at least the reason he believed had drawn him here, out to the heart of nowhere.

"Where is Athair?" the echidna clone asked. "Is he alright?"

"Turn around and see for yourself." Merlin gestured, and Nail slowly turned. To his amazement, he saw Athair sitting in a large recliner by the fire, his eyes closed. Nail approached cautiously. He didn't know how the chair had suddenly become occupied, but it was. Athair looked as he always did. His simple sandals were off his feet, but his spines were still beaded, and his wrinkled face had a neutral expression. Nail watched, as his mentor took a deep breath.

"He's alive…" Nail reached out, and placed a hand on Athair's shoulder, as if testing the reality before him. "Is this really him? He looks fine, but what happened? And how did I know to come here?"

Merlin walked past him, and sat down on another chair, facing the fire.

"My old friend slumbers within the Master Emerald," Merlin said, and motioned towards the old style wooden sofa between the two chairs. "Please. Sit."

Nail seemed to think about it for a few seconds, before taking the offered spot. "Thank you. For taking care of him. But… what do you mean, he slumbers within the Master Emerald?"

Merlin closed his eyes and frowned in displeasure. He slowly leaned back, rapping his knuckles against the armrest. "The issue of the Angel Island Emeralds, including this new Master Emerald, has always been of deep concern to me. It is both the boon and curse of the Guardians, and it had caused them great joy and terrible sadness in equal measure. Now… is one of those sad times."

Merlin opened his eyes, ad looked right at the sleeping Athair.

"Athair always taught you that power corrupts. Power is also, unfortunately, the only means to perpetuate any cause, good or bad. The Master Emerald, tool for good and evil in the past, has returned to its true master and source. It is an extension of an evil and remorseless will, and it will corrupt all it touches, without exception."

"Then Athair is fighting this corruption?" Nail guessed. "Fighting it in the dream time?"

Merlin smiled a little more. "Yes. You have learned well from him. And he has taught you much While I tend to Athair's physical form, his Dream Body is in the Master Emerald as we speak, rallying and supporting its lone defender, its sole remaining champion. You see, it was I who sealed this evil away, and it was I who realized that, despite my efforts, it would return. Sooner or later, it would return, and reclaim its accursed throne."

"To that end…" Merlin sighed, sadly. "To that end, I enlisted the aid of those who could serve me in the preservation of the world against the endless hunger and hatred of the Devourer. The Emeralds would always be a threat, so I searched far and wide for some means to control them, and temper them. I found that answer in the heart of a young girl, who, surrounded by the ravages and depredations of war, maintained an innocence and purity of heart so rare even in the best of times. Her name was Tikal."

"Tikal?" Nail recognized the name immediately. "The spirit within the Master Emerald?"

"The same. Centuries ago, I sealed her within it, along with the Chaos Guardian I had originally constructed to discourage the abuse of the original Master Emerald. Her soul, her spirit, her purity remained within the Master Emerald for all the long years. When it split, she became split into seven versions, all weaker than the original. Whe, just recently, the Master Emerald was reformed…" Merlin shook his head. "She did not reform, as I hoped. She remained fragmented, and because of this unforeseen situation, she has no longer proven able to counteract the Devourer's influence."

Nail tried to grasp all of what his host had said. It bespoke of power, abilities, magics, far beyond anything he had heard of before. The somber, elderly face of the vulpine belied (if he was telling the truth), an ancient and powerful being, like nothing ever recorded. If even half of what this Merlin said was true, he sat in the presence of a creature of subtle and terrifying power… Nail knew, instantly, to tread lightly, despite the apparent frankness and gentility of his host.

"You… used… Tikal to keep the Master Emerald pure. Is that right?" Nail asked, slowly.

"I used her, yes." Merlin's smile faded a bit. "As I must. I am a being that can afford to do nothing out of charity. My purpose is to have purpose, to create purpose."

Nail tried not to frown. "So you and this 'Devourer' play your games, and use innumerable lives as pawns? If you used Tikal, then I'd be willing to bet you've done the same to Athair, to the other Guardians, to Walkers-knows how many others. Why not just be done with it? You said you sealed this enemy of yours before, right?"

"Yes. But I may not be able to do so again." Merlin explained, "Understand: I do not know if I can seal the Devourer once more, and the Devourer does not know either. That is what keeps him from acting more openly and personally. For creatures like ourselves, we must gauge our actions very carefully, for they may move mountains and the fates of nations. The risk of my failure, the risk of my undoing centuries of planning in the name of idealism, fairness, or honor… that is the height of foolishness."

"Athair knew," Nail said it, as fact, knowing in his heart the truth.

"Athair has a kind heart as well, but in time he understood my truth. I believe you will to, when he passes on and you succeed him." Merlin turned slightly, and reached for a metal rod near the fireplace. Taking it, he poked the flames a few times, creating a small cloud of embers that drifted down to the bottom of the fireplace well.

"Why am I here?" Nail asked, simply. "Do you want me to enter the Dream Time and fight in the Emerald, too?"

Merlin smirked. "No, Nail. That is not something you can do. Athair can enter the Emerald Realm because he is a Guardian. A guardian who has forsaken his Brotherhood for a lonely road, but one of that bloodline regardless."

"But… I'm part of that bloodline too. You must know that." Nail gritted his teeth. "I'm a clone of Knuckles… our DNA is identical! I've seen the tests!"

"The Guardian bloodline is about more than genetics." Merlin, finished with the fire, again turned his full attention to Nail. "Didn't you ever wonder why your creators considered you a failure?"

"I know why." Nail took a deep breath, and calmed himself. Remembering those times, that place, those faces, still brought back intense and unwanted feelings. "They wanted a weapon, a mobian who could use Chaos Energies. It was based off of the same experiment that created Shadow, I think. They knew about Knuckles and the other Guardians, and believed that a clone of Knuckles would have all his natural abilities."

"Mastermind… and Mya… they created me." Nail ran his hand over the headscarf that covered the scars and other metal remembrances that remained fused to his skull. "They installed knowledge in me, told me I was their tool. Their weapon for Revenge. Told me I had to obey."

"And you did, didn't you?" Merlin drove the point home. "But you never could harness Chaos Energy. Not like Knuckles. Not like Shadow."

Nail's hand fell to his lap. "No…"

"Then there was that last mission. But it took longer than anyone expected, didn't it? And during that mission to kill Sonic, Tails, and the rest of the Freedom Fighter leadership, you began to regain your free will, as your body developed an immunity to the submission agent you had always been pumped full of. You realized you couldn't go back. You realized that no matter what you did, you would always be the failure. Your conscience kept you from doing what they wanted, and your fear kept you from going back."

Merlin looked at Nail closely, as the emotions played across the echidna's face.

"You wandered, and wandered, until Athair found you, took you in, and gave you purpose. You have served him well since then, and through him, you have done as I wished as well. Please. Do not feel betrayed. Athair cared for you as a father cares for his son, and despite appearances, I care for all those who I grant… favor."

Nail felt something rise up within him, unbidden. He looked down, and saw his hands glowing. He willed it down, but the ethereal flames did not fade. Suddenly, he understood, and looked up at Merlin with wide eyes.

"Yes, Nail," Merlin said, his eyes half lidded. "Now you understand. You never drew your power from the Master Emerald. You never could, because that is a right passed down by both spirit and blood, down the Guardian lineage. You were not conceived by a Guardian, so you forever lack that essential spirit which ties you to the Emerald. The keys to the Emerald Realm are passed directly from parent to sire at the moment of creation."

"What lies within you…" Merlin spoke more loudly now. "Is my power!"

"Impossible…" Nail looked down at himself, for some sign, some indication.

"You will not find the Emerald tied to your body sticking out like some obscene tattoo. Give an old man more credit and subtlety than that. I have long since learned the means to mask the appearance of my gifts, so as to be almost invisible. Almost undetectable. In fact, you have already met another of my assistants in this noble enterprise." Merlin held out his hand, and the image of a black ring appeared, slowly spinning. "Does it look familiar, Nail?"

"Tempest's Ring!" Nail gasped. "Then he was using it all along?"

"Huh." Merlin closed his hand, and the ring disappeared. "Hardly. The ring binds him to me, and to my will, but that one has no idea how to use it, or its power. The kitsune were created to be both ignorant of and alien to the notion of Chaos Energy. They are not wholly immune to its influence, as are the humans and overlanders, but their disbelief and inherent rigidity serve just as well."

"You used us to train Tails… Miles. You used us both," Nail said it, and didn't hide his ire.

"I did what was necessary. You are and were Tempest's counterpoint. I would use him now, too, but he is already occupied by my Two Legacies. You will do. And as for Miles, things with the Chosen One did not go exactly as I had planned, but for the most part, they went well."

"Well? They went well!" Nail replied, and balled his fists. "How can you say that?"

Merlin sighed, a little loudly. "This is not the time for debate. I have clarified the situation and explained why you are as you are. If you no longer wish this gift, I understand… and if you desire it, I will remove my power from your shell of a body. You will then be able to go about your life without it, and without the purpose it brings."

"I can see why you approve of how Miles turned out." Nail said, after a few moments silence. "You two are so alike, now."

"I won't deny it," Merlin replied, quickly.

Nail fumed for a few more seconds, and then relaxed. "If I cannot enter this Emerald Realm, then _why_ am I here?"

Merlin looked over at Athair, and then back to Nail.

"Six of the Seven Tikals have been killed. The last one, aided by Athair, fights on in the Emerald Realm. They delay the inevitable. Soon, the Master Emerald will become wholly corrupted." Merlin paused, let that sink in, and then continued. "So, finally, the Master Emerald must be destroyed."

"Destroyed?" Nail asked, trying to imagine that. "But Angel Island…"

"Will Fall." Merlin nodded. "Yes. However, its location out at sea will minimize the damage. Angel Island has fallen before. This will be the last time. It will never fly again."

"And the Guardians?" Nail asked.

"The Guardians… can not be worse off than they are already." Merlin watched Nail as he mulled over all that had been said. "This must be done, before the corruption infects all of Angel Island. Before it becomes a permanent outpost of the Devourer."

Nail saw a remarkable thing then: he saw desperation in Merlin's features. That, more than anything, sent a silent chill down the echidna's back. He did not know who or what this Devourer was, but it put fear and disgust into the heart of this Merlin, and the thoughts of a creature capable of that was truly terrifying. Nail then looked over at Athair, and his eyes narrowed slightly.

He faced Merlin. "How do I do it?"

"The Master must be taken to the Grand Aurorium," Merlin explained. "The Church worships… an old lover of mine. A wife I had, for a brief century. She was a great and kind soul, a being of empathy, understanding and power. She bore my gifts, and became well known as a Priestess. After her death, the echidna took to worshipping her. She walks in the beyond, in the Deepest Dream Time as Athair calls it. Not the nothingness of death, but the spirit realm where the greatest Chaos Adepts linger."

Merlin spoke with a sense of urgency. "Take the corruption to the heart of her influence. There, I believe she will empower Tikal and purge the taint. I expect the Devourer will do everything short of showing up himself to stop this, when he realizes what I have planned. Fortunately, his sealing was long before Aurora herself was born. He will not realize the danger before it is too late."

Nail stood. "If you have pawns in this little game, I expect this Devourer will, too."

"Yes. But they have already suffered losses. And…" Merlin smirked again. "And I have stronger pieces still on the board."

Nail frowned. "I can't say I like all this. But… I've been thinking about what Tails, no: Miles, said. He told me I was a coward for not using my power. In a way, he was right. I don't want to be known for the power, and for the destruction, I can unleash. I don't want to have to fall back on it time and time again. I don't want to become like you… or Miles. But at the same time, I have a responsibility to use the power I have, this so called 'gift' you've given me. So I'll do this. I'll do what has to be done."

"Good boy. I knew you would." Merlin also stood, and the two walked back to the door. Nail quickly slipped on his sandals, and then his traveling cloak. He reached for the door, and quickly opened it, but instead of a blast of cold wind, and a snowed in countryside, he saw a busy metropolis. Buildings reached to the sky, and aircraft flew high overhead.

"Echidnapolis…" he whispered. He looked over his shoulder, where Merlin wore an amused smile.

"I thought you're appreciate being close to the action." Merlin gave him a gentle push, and Nail stepped out into the world. He still had difficulty grasping his sudden change in location. By the outside, it looked like the door led into the side of an otherwise mundane apartment building.

"Remember…" Merlin spoke up. "The Master Emerald _must_ be destroyed, in whatever form it has taken!"

Nail nodded. "I understand."

"Do you?" Merlin pivoted, and closed the door behind him, as he disappeared back into the house. "Of that, we shall see…"

* * *

Far from Echidnapolis, on the opposite end of Angel Island, beyond the Ice Cap Mountains, Prince Charmy of Goldenhive watched as his engineers swarmed over the beached hull of his newest prize. They were back behind friendly lines, and while the echidna had cruise missiles that could reach all the way into Goldenhive territory, the regional point defense barrier shield offered effective immunity from attack. Yes, here he could allow himself to smile, and savor his victory.

Sitting to overflowing in one of the drydocks adjacent to the mazelike arcology that was Goldenhive itself, the _EDS Manifest Destiny_ awaited refitting and rearming. He did frown when he remembered how the crew had fought to the last man, despite his orders that any who surrendered would be kept honorably as prisoners of war. In the end, they had fought and died. Perhaps, Charmy realized, they had panicked at the apparent ferocity and brutality of the Goldenhive warrior caste. To his sadness, he realized that it would be difficult to foster an image that would encourage the enemy to surrender, instead of fight.

It didn't help that all the other Hives indulged their warrior caste, and let them run amok. There had been much loss of life both at the Shipyards, and among the townships in the path of the Xialjyet Armada. Charmy did not wish their deaths in any way, and he had been careful in his wording to his troops, knowing that they took everything their Prince said literally. Even after telling them to be lenient and only defend themselves and their mission objectives, the civilian death toll had been rather atrocious.

Charmy exhaled, and shook his head in sadness.

He was sorry that things had to be that way, but at the same time he tried to comfort himself with the fact that, in time, the war would be over, and there would be peace. For both Xialjyet and Echidna. If his plan continued on course, he would be the architect of that peace, ad maybe some of his peers would even come to understand why he did what he did. However, Charmy did not hold out much hope in that particular department.

A breeder in a hardhat approached. As usual, she did not bow. She knew her place in the Hive, as did Charmy, and never deviated from that purpose. While the royalty of the Hives did dress extravagantly, compared to their subjects, displays of wealth and power were wholly different than displays of submission or dominance.

"We have completed our examination of the ship and her systems, Prince." The breeder who spoke was of particularly high standing within the Hive, and so they both felt comfortable with her calling him by his title.

"Go on," Charmy prompted.

"Well, as expected, her electronics are very advanced. The control interfaces are strange to us, but as you demonstrated in flying her here, my Prince, we can adapt and learn to use them. It will be some time before we are able to fully secure and bypass all the echidna control locks, to free up the weapons systems and the incomplete shield. Much of the armor is also missing, so we will have to manufacture and add that ourselves."

Charmy nodded. "Good. Good. Based on the output of the engines, can we graft our newest tank armor onto the hull?

"I believe so, my Prince." The engineer offered a small smile. "Our organic-crystalline lattice armor is much lighter than the layered metal-ceramic armor the echidna and dingo prefer. Grafting the entire hull with a mesh skin will take some time, however, at least two weeks. Then we will need to feed the armor, and let it grow in. That may take as long as three weeks."

"You have a month," Charmy replied, and the engineer bowed her head in acquiescence.

"I… will assign more drones to the grafting procedure," the breeder explained, though Charmy doubted that was all she'd have to do to meet his demands. Still, she would do her utmost to meet his deadline, and that was what mattered. Even if it was not met, it would be close.

"And the weapons?" Charmy asked. "Please do not tell me we will have to reinstall our own."

"The missile bays and hanger are all empty, my Prince. We will have to stock them with our own devices. The main weapons, the plasma cannons, we can charge, outfit, and have ready within two weeks. The laser interceptor grid, however, is incomplete. Only three out of the nine emplacements are operational. The others are incomplete, and I believe it would be best to remove them entirely and put in some of our own weapons systems: perhaps two rotary organic missile launchers and four heavy flak cannon. This will also free up more power for the shields and main guns."

"Do it. As I said, you have a month. By then, I want to be able to take it anywhere on this Island." Charmy crossed his arms and turned his head to face his hard won prize. "The _Manifest Destiny_ is the key to our victory in the war. Use whatever resources we have available to get it ready. Without that ship… we have no future. This island has no future."

"It will be done, my Prince!" The breeder turned and quickly went back to work supervising the drones. Charmy closed his eyes, and imagined his ship. His Armada. With the heavy airships _Manifest Destiny_, the _Spirit of Gold_, the _Golden Way_, the _Gold Prince_, and soon the _Golden Chariot_ all under his direction, supported by the smaller escort craft, he would be the undisputed master of the skies. He would dictate fair terms to the echidna, and he would oversee the creation of a fair and lasting peace on the island. With his all powerful air fleet, the finest in the world, even the other members of the Quaz Xialjyet would dare not oppose him.

If he had to cut the heads off the echidna government to save the echidna people, then it would be done. If he had to decapitate the leadership of the other Hives, then it would be done. He even dared to hope, to dream, of a United Angel Island – Xialjyet, Echidna, and maybe even Dingo along with all the other minor races, all working as members of a true Pan-Island Super State! What better way to atone for the lives lost in an inevitable war, than to create a long, lasting, and orderly post-war peace?

"Yes!" Charmy felt confident, and full of energy. "By the gods… it _will_ be done!"

* * *

To most, the northlands seemed an endless expanse of forest, tundra, or ice, depending on where you looked. In one particular stretch of thick forest, miles from any apparent sign of civilization, a small cluster of buildings rose in contrast to the woods that extended in every direction.

Thandothane, _Ephor Anthal Tukaido_, sniffed distastefully at the air.

"This place smells too new, I think." He crossed his thickly muscled arms over his chest, a perpetual scowl on his face. He was fairly old for a kitsune, having seen over forty summers and winters. Like most kitsunes, he wore thick leather and hide boots than reached up to his knees. He also wore, in addition to a leather belt, a thick bandoleer up and over his left shoulder. Looking around, Thandothane's nose twitched, and the long braids of hair that trailed down to his shoulders swayed, accentuating his smallest movements.

"I agree, my lord. It is a shame the Jel'Arah had no adequate facilities already constructed for this task," one of Thandothane's aides agreed, eagerly.

"Eh." The Tukaido Lord snorted, and kept walking. "I do look forward to when we take our leave, prizes in hand. Hopefully we can do so under the noses of the Vidar, as well."

"The Vidar are short sighted. Their _Ephor _dallies without a care…"

"Be silent, you worm." Thandothane never raised his voice, but the other kitsune immediately bowed his head and backed away. The leader continued walking, at a leisurely pace. "You do not know Tempest, so do not speak as if you do. He is… curious. And that is a dangerous and unbecoming trait in a Vidar. Just as bad as all that, he is strong. Stronger than any other _Ephor Anthal _save myself, or possibly Tae-Uhl."

"My Liege?" The other kitsune, large and well built as he was still cowered at a respectful distance.

"Yes. I have a feeling Tempest will start sniffing around and interfere. Especially if our prizes are not ready by the next moon. He will come here and investigate, or worse: attempt to waylay us on the trip back to Tukaido territory." Thandothane paused, and looked around carefully. "There are too many kitsune here. Too many we do not know."

A patrol of female kitsune, wearing full armor and war gear, marched by.

The two males watched them with some wariness. Kitsune typically dressed for the hunt, not for war. Each of the females moved with balance and precision, making hardly a sound in their chain mail and polymetal plate, called _Afet _or _Female_ Armor. It was a rather rare sight, even for a clan leader of twenty years. Females practiced in it, but rarely around males, drilling and training amongst themselves.

It consisted of a full-length mail hauberk, worn beneath a sleeveless linen robe, which ran from the shoulders down to the calves (where they extended just over soft leather traveling boots). A single sheet breastplate (or cuirass) further protected the torso, and was molded to replicate the covered curves of a female body, in addition to being decorated with brass inlays around the collar and abdomen. In this lone respect, the armors were different, reflecting individualized styles and tastes. Flanged pauldons covered the shoulders and protected the neck, while forearm and hand guards, simple leather bracers with metal on the outer facing, did the same to the arms. Weapons were tied securely to leather belts around the female's waists, but remained partially obscured by the camoflage pattern cloaks attached to the armor at the shoulders. The females were relaxed but alert, and went about without helms of any sort.

All three carried both polearms, compressed and attached to the belts at their waists, and their leader also carried a single _Al Hasad_: it was a firearm, almost five feet long and twenty pounds in weight: large and heavy, but extremely powerful. Outside races would have referred to it as an anti material rifle, but the kitsune used it as their standard weapon in times of real war.

As powerful as Thandothane knew he was, as he had to be as _Ephor Anthal_ of an entire clan of warriors, he held no illusions. A single shot from an _Al Hasad_ would end his life, along with that of virtually anything else on the planet it happened to hit. He knew how to use one, but it was generally considered to be a female weapon. It was not in any way a tool of the hunt.

"Do you suppose they know what is happening here, _Ephor_?" Thandothane's aide asked, a little timidly.

"Doubtful," the older kitsune replied. "El'Arah just has them marching around protecting the place. He wouldn't have them knowing that they are guarding their… well, suffice to say that it would be far too ironic for a toddler like Jel'Arah's _Ephor Anthal Enir_."

"Still. I worry, my Liege," the aide walked a little faster, catching up to his leader. "What if they found out?"

"Even if they did, there is nothing they could do about it. It is not their place to question their _Ephor_, and… if they are so weak as to be fall by the wayside then they deserve to fade into extinction."

"Will it really come to that?"

"No… not for many lifetimes. After all, there are only so many Newtypes and that is assuming they're all equally viable. But in the end, strength is all that matters. And the boost in strength this will bring my blood… I do not believe the throne of _Siphir_, of Emperor, is beyond reach."

"As you say, my Liege."

The two walked on, paying no heed to two other armored females that seemed to also be having a quiet conversation at a duty post. The two females watched then with both eyes and ears, and became quiet. Thandothane and his assistant disappeared around the bed of one of the larger structures, and one of the females made as if to follow them. The other held her back.

"Not yet," she whispered.

The other didn't seem as composed. "Didn't you hear what they said about my _Ephor Enir_?"

"Feh! Don't be foolish. That quip about your leader's son is hardly what has me worried." The calmer of the two let go of the other's shoulder. "They mentioned a 'Newtype,' whatever that is. By what they said, it seems almost as if they are conducting Blood Research."

"Blood Research is forbidden." The other returned. Her red hair, tied back into a braid, swished behind her armored shoulders. "My _Ephor_ would not be involved in such a thing!"

"I wouldn't think so either. I have met Tae-Uhl, and this is not his style… however, they did not mention your _Ephor Anthal_, did they? They spoke only of his Heir, of El'Arah. And I cannot speak for his tastes or schemes."

"But…"

"Take off those rose colored glasses, would you, Kae'a? _Ephors _and the like are strong, but not infallible. Being the sister of one, I know firsthand about this sort of thing."

"I… suppose. You may be right, Chara." Kar'Arah furrowed her brows at the thought of her leaders, as strong as they were, behaving in a way contrary to the best interests of the Clan. "Still… Shouldn't we follow them? Try and hear more?"

"I wouldn't risk it. Thandothane was looking around like a wary rabbit. He's never met me, personally, but I don't want to risk his connecting my scent to Tempest's. And I don't want him asking the Lady of the Guard about the strange Vidar in their midst."

"But your cover story? About being mated to one of the Jel'Arah in my village…" Kae began to argue, but Chara cut her off.

"Will not hold up if they actually contact the village to confirm the fact. Your mother and father will have to tell her the truth, and then.. I don't even know what then. Just keep a low profile for now. We'll find out more in all due time."

Kae'Arah seemed to find this convincing, and she stood down, her lithe frame relaxing visibly. She looked around quickly, making sure no one else was close enough to be eavesdropping. She couldn't believe she was even doing this. Tempest and his sister had convinced her to help them investigate possible 'overlander infiltration' of the area, and she agreed after a fashion, but it still felt wrong.

Even after some of the other females set to guard the place began mumbling amongst themselves about strange goings-on, Kae resisted the very thought of placing blame on her honorable Ephor and his son. Surely, it would be the plot of some highborn nobles or the like, but not the highest power in the land. It was worrying.

She and Chara had arrived three days ago, and informed the Lady of the Watch, one Tania-Uhl Na' Jel'Arah, that they had heard of openings within the local guard from nearby villages. This was believable enough. Nearby villages had been stripped of many females to guard this new complex of buildings, and while there were was no more need for guards, the Lady let them stay ad serve their Clan. It was the duty and honor of all kitsune females to defend their territory, and turning them back, when they were obviously qualified and not needed elsewhere, would have been an insult.

The population here was of mixed genders, but it was no village.

There were no youngsters or children, nor did the buildings follow the Traditional and typical organization of a kitsune village, large or small. The game in the region was not plentiful, so the complex actually imported food from elsewhere – something almost unheard of among the normally self-sufficient kitsune communities. The buildings, too, were of permanent construction, being made of metal, concrete and mortar. Kitsune had permanent buildings, of course, usually temples, shrines and meeting halls, but not many, and almost never so many in a single place.

At first, Kae had thought this to be a new temple complex of some sort. The Fa'Rah, far to the north, were very fond of temple complexes in which to explore their spirituality, and all the Clans had a handful within their lands. However, the Elders here did not seem to be priests and the buildings had none of the Traditional trappings of kitsune holy places. This place was something different altogether and two days ago there had actually been rumors of a _male_ war party (within Clan lands, no less!), leading hooded prisoners in under cover of darkness.

Kae let out a soft sigh. "I always wanted a little excitement… but this was not quite what I meant."

Chara looked back at her, and brushed aside a lock of dark hair. She reached back, and fiddled with her makeshift braid. It was a hairstyle popular in most clans' female population, but Chara preferred to keep her pitch black hair free. Still, here, keeping it braided helped her blend I more, so that was how it was.

"We'll have our chance for some real fun soon enough," Chara promised.

"When Tempest arrives?" Kae asked, even though she knew it was the answer. "I feel some shame in admitting it will be a relief when he does."

"No shame in it," Chara replied. "No dishonor. With him here, we at least have something to fall back on. And for all Thandothane's bluster, I know Tempest can defeat him, should it come to a challenge."

Kae was somewhat torn between her instinctive desire to defend her own clan leader, who Chara seemed to have written off as a non-factor in any coming fight. Her tails bristled a bit, and she smirked. "I would not underestimate El'Arah, either. Tempest spoke highly of Tae-Uhl, and El is his father's son."

Chara didn't reply right away, but waited a few seconds before answering.

"Tae-Uhl is very strong. I have seen him spar with my brother. Tae also has the memories of eight generations of his forefathers within him, if I remember correctly. Have you considered that maybe he is… too strong? You El'Arah, I mean."

"What?" Kae did actually grasp what Chara implied, but didn't like the conclusion it forced her to draw. "You can't mean that!"

"Keep your voice down." Chara hissed. "I'm just speculating. That's all."

"You call my _Ephor Anthal Enir_ weak…"

"No. I call your _Ephor Anthal_ too strong. Do you know what happened to Thandothane's heir? Did Tempest ever tell you?"

"No… Why? What does that matter?"

"Kae – you're almost too provincial for your own good." Chara sighed. "Listen. Thandothane is old, isn't he? Old to be unmated?"

"I… I suppose so." Kae agreed.

"He has not been a bachelor all his life. He had a mate and an heir, up till five years ago. Tempest tells me that they mated during his Turan'Ha, and seemed quite close, though he only knew her in her later years. Her name was Miranha, and Thandothane's son was named Thayen. I never knew her, but I did know Thayen, because he was one of my suitors back then. He was a good male, and very strong. He could have Claimed me, back then, but he wanted to become _Ephor Anthal_ first. He trained hard, and went home to challenge his father."

"He should have waited. He should have trained harder." During the story, Chara took on a hurt look, and lowered her eyes. "Thandothane killed him. Tore out his throat at the first opportunity."

Kae was shocked. It wasn't unheard of for fathers to kill sons in the duels that typically ended the other way around – it was the risk all children took during the sire killing ceremony. But if the child was still too weak, the parent was expected to spare him or her, so that they could grow stronger for the next attempt.

"By your tone…" Kae cautiously began to ask, "Were you thinking about him?"

"I was. At the time." Chara shook her head, and ran a hand through her hair. "He was strong and honorable. There was no reason to kill him. Not like that. Not so suddenly, as they tell it."

"I'm sorry," Kae said it, and meant it.

"I've hated Thandothane since then… and so has Tempest. He's a devil in kitsune skin. Before his son's corpse was even cold, they say he blamed Thayen's weakness on his mother. He killed her, too. But… while I know Tae-Uhl is an honorable _Ephor_, he is strong. As strong as Thandothane, if not more so. If, like Thayen, El'Arah is not strong enough to defeat his father, as some kitsune sires always are, then maybe he has decided to find some other way? A way forbidden by Tradition, and the Council of Elders?"

"Blood Research…" Kae used the kitsune phrase for genetics, a science forbidden by the most ancient laws. Not to say that all genetic research was forbidden, but only that which involved the kitsune genome. That, almost above all else, was taboo. Kae, like all good kitsune, never wondered why, or who had thought up that Tradition. She just obeyed it, as her ancestors had for thousands of years.

"I know. The thought that they may be… experimenting with kitsune in there… it turns my stomach. It violates Tradition. And if they are, then I swear, I will help my brother burn this accursed place to the ground." Chara still spoke softly, even then. A few seconds later, but a respectable distance away, three more females marched, weary of any potential intrusion, but ignorant to the one (or two) already in their midst.

Kae saw the patrol, too. "Let's go. We've lingered here too long."

Chara nodded in agreement, and the two quietly moved on.

* * *

Station Square was noisy.

And so was GUN headquarters.

Rouge's ears flattened slightly, just as much as they could, while she waited in line. She was a loner by nature, by preference, by design. She liked the city and all its conveniences well enough, but sometimes the sheer number of conversations and noises overwhelmed her. This was especially acute among the humans that surrounded her, with their own poor hearing and loud voices.

"Rouge?"

Rouge smiled at her partner. "Sorry. What was that?"

"I was just saying, you should consider a commission. I know you like being freelance, but the higher ups want to see a commitment before they make a serious investment." Topaz took a few steps forward in the lunch line, and picked out a salad prong under the buffet's sneeze guard. There was a wide variety of foodstuffs available for GUN agents and those who worked with them. Rouge watched as Topaz selected the seaweed salad, and doled some out onto her plate, next to a small side of baked fish. Rouge's own plate had several slices of what the humans called _sashimi_.

As a general rule, she had to avoid leafy matter. Later at night, there was always the temptation of a bloody steak, but that was indulged infrequently. Though, Rouge did wonder what salads tasted like, she knew from personal experience it would upset her stomach, so she stuck with her Source-given dietary needs. Topaz had no such restrictions, and Rouge had, over the months, seen her consume an amazing variety of foods.

It was one of the benefits of being a human, she supposed.

"I think I've done enough for this city to be given a better place to live, Topaz," Rouge replied, as they moved down the buffet line. Topaz was her partner in whatever GUN handed down for her to do for them, partly because they felt Rouge needed a liaison, and partly because they didn't trust the batgirl. "I'm not asking for a mansion or anything. Not even a lousy Workshop in the Jungle."

"I know. And I think it's a reasonable request. But I'm telling you that it would be looked favorably upon if you just signed a few papers, and took a commission. Even a junior one, for just a few months."

"I'm not going to do that," Rouge said it a little more harshly than she intended. "You know what I mean. I don't want to tie myself down."

"That friend of yours, the one with the two tails. He signed up." Topaz countered. "Do you think he's tying himself down?"

"Don't know. Don't care. Whatever Tails does is his business. It doesn't affect me." Rouge sighed. "I just want to stay free. To leave and do my own thing, whenever I want."

"Sometimes you have to sacrifice for your career, Rouge," Topaz said, and picked out a small little pastry, as they neared the end of the line. These, at least, Rouge knew she could eat without trouble – they seemed to be mostly sugar anyway, so the mobian took two. They poured out drinks, a sugary soda water (called "Gold Cola") the humans seemed to love, and walked over to their usual table, an odd pair indeed.

Topaz, despite being the taller of the pair, blended into the sea of like dressed officers that made up GUN's paramilitary arm. With short sandy colored hair, and small blue earrings the color of her eyes, Rouge had heard that Topaz was quite beautiful as far as human females went. In other circumstances, the handful of people looking in her direction (with a veiled mix of expressions and intents) would have probably been 'checking her out' (as the expression went). But it was Rouge, the only mobian for miles, who stuck out like a sore thumb and garnered the attention. Her manner of dress alone was both exotic and unconventional, in color and in scheme, not counting the creature that wore it.

Rouge had liked the attention at first, but it had gradually lost its appeal.

The two partners sat down by themselves, as usual. A large window, facing out over the city and offering a majestic view as far as the eye could see, dominated the cafeteria. Station Square was a true marvel, utilizing the first and most powerful City Cloak Rouge had ever seen (it not only hid the city, but projected a hologram of a fake countryside for miles as well), though after the city's location became a secret, it remained off line. It was a true metropolis, like her father had told her about when she was little. It was hard to believe that, just a decade earlier, the humans had not just once city like this, but dozens.

Even if she weren't being paid, she would fight to protect it.

Or at least, she liked to think she would.

"Hey, Topaz!"

Rouge looked at up the voice, not used to people intruding while the two partners ate. Most pointedly ignored them, but this time a man approached. He was taller than most of the humans Rouge had met, and wore the same uniform as Topaz, but with the combat vest open at the front. Dark brown eyes and a roguish smile (Rouge thought was directed at Topaz) gave him a disarming appearance.

"Tom?" Topaz gasped and smiled at the newcomer. "Is that you?"

"Sure is." He inclined his head towards the table. "Room for one more over here?"

"Of course!" Topaz seemed to know the man quite well. Rouge hadn't seen her act like this before, not really. "It's been forever, hasn't it?"

"Two years. You look just like I remember, Topaz…" He sat down, and his eyes drifted over to rouge. "And _who_ is this pretty new partner of yours?"

"Yes, Topaz. Do tell." Rouge leaned forward, and batted her eyes at the man. Given the particulars of her catsuit, and her current position, it was usually more than enough to send most men into an embarrassed or discomfited fit, depending on just how prudish their human sensibilities were. "Who is this handsome friend you neglected to tell me about?"

Topaz chuckled, and the man just smiled a little more.

"Rouge. This is Thomas Stone. We went through high school together…" While Topaz talked, Rouge watched her friend's friend closely. He didn't seem put off by Rouge's flirting in the least. That was new, at least among non-mobians. After a few seconds, she even found herself blushing.

"Would you look at that?" A voice came from behind, one that shouldn't have been there. Rouge turned, and saw Tails, not the one she knew so intimately, but the one from Station Square, two years ago. Despite his small stature and apparent youth, this Tails still had Miles' voice, and Miles' mannerisms.

"Thomas, was it?" He crossed his arms, and looked at her with an expression of displeasure. "It seems you have strange taste in men, Rouge."

Behind him, Fiona appeared, coyly smiling. "Mmm. I'd have to agree, Darling Miles."

And behind her, Amanda appeared, also looking smug. "Not normal at all."

And behind her, Sally of all Mobians walked out. She waggled a royal finger in disapproval. "And would you look at that?"

Rouge heard her voice, and turned again. Her eyes widened, and she gasped in shock and embarrassment. There, for all to see, were the two of them, together. Rouge tried to move, tried to prevent them from watching, as it went on. The other Rouge clawed at the bed, and moaned, her wings tangling in the twisted sheets.

"How perverted!" The Dream Sally chided, from behind her.

"Rouge! How could you?" The Dream Amanda added.

"He does seem well endowed… And it does look like she's having fun, right Darling Miles?" The Dream Fiona commented.

"What do I care for such a stupid thing?" Miles asked. "My concern is that her shame is her weakness."

Rouge wanted to smile at his words, though they were a typical mixture of callous aloofness and encouragement. Still, she wanted to hide what was happening from them. She tried to move again, but her body refused to respond. In front of her, the two unlikely partners switched positions, with Rouge on top. Thus exposed, Rouge felt even greater embarrassment well up inside her. She struggled harder, but to no avail.

"A secret has power over you." Miles continued, from behind her. "You must be stronger than it, or it will doom you, loom over you, threaten you until the end of your days. I know this well."

"You… you don't understand!" Rouge yelled back, but couldn't turn her head more than a few degrees. "Please! I don't want to see this! I don't want anyone to see this!"

"Would you rather see something else?" Miles asked.

"Oh yes, Darling Miles!" Fiona cheered. "Let's show her that! Show her _that_!"

The image of the two, on that bed, doing the forbidden between their races, faded away. For a moment, Rouge was relieved. Then she began to see what replaced it. A body, slumped against a wall, in that same room, the sheets draped over the shoulders like a cape - the head at a lifeless angle, a pool of blood spreading all over the floor, staining the world red. And then the wall, already splattered with bullet holes, still having crimson words on display for all to see.

A N I M A L

"All your fault!" The Dream Sally yelled. "You goaded him on! You killed him!"

"I didn't kill him!" Rouge yelled back. "They did! They killed him!"

Topaz slowly walked into the picture, a smoking gun in hand.

"Look! Look!" Dream Fiona cheered eagerly. "Let's watch it again!"

"No!" Rouge yelled, and strained even harder to get free. "It wasn't her! Get out of my mind! Damn you! I want to wake up!"

"Don't you see, Rouge? She wanted him, but you got in the way. You were just an animal!" Dream-Sally screamed. "Just an animal to her! To all of them! A pet dog to lead around!"

"Find a truth and seize it, Rouge." Miles' voice was soft, the calm in the storm.

"You… Damn you. I _know _what happened…" Rouge let her dream body relax, and closed her eyes. When she opened them, she saw not Topaz, but three men. She knew their faces, but not their names. She had sat in on their trial. Sat there and listened as they ranted and screamed and howled obscenities at her, and at what she had done. She had sat there, with a straight face, as the gas rose up past their chests. She had sat there, and saw the frantic last look in their eyes – eyes full not of fanaticism and hatred, but fear.

Pure abject fear.

"How… dare you… use these memories against me…?" Rouge was calm now, but it was a deadly focused calm. She turned, and there was nothing holding her back. Miles stood before her, in his adult body, arms crossed and looking pleased. The others, the Dream Sally and Fiona, looked furious. The Dream Amanda had a different look, one that approached respect.

Miles glanced in the rabbit girl's direction.

"Oh?" he intoned. "I see. I think you should wake up now, Rouge. You have company."

Rouge was about to ask what the hell he meant, and what on Mobius was going on, when her eyes opened for real. The room was dark, save for a trickle of moonlight from outside that partially illuminated the area near the open window. Open window? Rouge quickly searched the room with her night keen eyes. While she had not lived in the secluded ranch house particularly long she could still easily identify the most notable features in the room: the slowly spinning ceiling fan, the dresser, the walk in closet, the personal computer workstation, the shelves full of books and assorted knickknacks.

And one other thing, out of place: alien, sitting on a chair by the window, partially obscured by the billowing drapes. Rouge reached behind her, felt along the wall, her hand almost at the panic switch…

"Please… don't do that." The figure stood, and walked forward, her face and body slowly becoming clear. Along with the weapon in her left hand: a rifle, of mobian design. The same design that Miles, or Tails, had organized mass production of years ago.

"Don't do it," the figure repeated. "Or…. Or I think I'll have to kill you."

"By the Source…"

Rouge saw the face, but almost didn't recognize it.

"Amanda?"


	19. Master of Puppets I

Miles walked, and Lara followed.

So it had been, for two silent days. He spoke barely a word in that time, and she never felt the need to question him. Which, in the back of her mind, Lara felt very strange about (not quite apprehensive, but just strange). She had always questioned, always wondered, almost to the point of annoyance. Yet every time she thought to question him, something within her said to wait. Her companion, her champion, seemed tense and deep in thought.

They had rented a room that night after the fight in the alley. It had not been anything spectacular, and he had taken the time to explain that her previous hotel room was no longer safe or "secure." Which was itself odd, since her old hotel was in a good part of the city, and the one he picked was a dive in the Minority Quarter. And no matter how many locks the door had, she was not quite confident in its ability to keep out the seedier element.

Then again, anyone attempting to rob them would be in for the surprise of a lifetime. Even before she fell asleep next to Miles (who didn't even appear to be breathing – it was like his body died for the night), she felt stronger and more powerful than ever. Even when her Guardian abilities had started to manifest at puberty, they never felt as… complete and fulfilling as this new power did. Only the malevolent glow of the Chaos Emerald she had carried away from the earlier encounter truly disturbed her, and when she did, she slept remarkably peacefully.

With hardly a word the next morning, they left. The dirty look the hotel proprietor had given them did not escape Lara's attention. Even though it was none of his business, Lara's first impulse was to assure him that nothing had gone on – not just because it was embarrassing, but also because (even in her time and in her world) intermobian relations were highly frowned upon among the echidna. Even with the desire to say something, she refrained, and followed Miles as he walked away.

They ate (really: she ate, and he watched pensively) breakfast, and headed southeast past Angel Lake and around the mountains. While in exceptional shape, she had initially been hard pressed to keep up as Miles picked up his pace. However, as her body fought fatigue, her new power again began to manifest – bolstering her spirit and energy, and propelling her forward. They briskly ran for hours, across green fields, scenic farmlands, and small towns. They passed over the Grand Canal that connected Angel Lake to Hydrocity, and then turned south into Lava Reef Zone. By then it was dark, and they slept under a rocky outcropping. Miles had left only briefly, before returning with food in the form of two rock lizards.

Lara had initially balked at the offering, but her rumbling stomach provided a strong opposing argument. In the end, while Miles returned to the land of the dead, she ate the two lizards after roasting them over an open fire. Sure enough, hunger had proven sufficient flavoring for the meal, and again she slept well, despite the company of the hotly glowing Super Emerald that had once empowered the hellish creature calling itself Mulciber.

The next morning, Miles broke into a run, and Lara fell in behind him as best she could manage. Compared to the day before, it was many times more difficult making good time through the rough terrain. When it grew excessively craggy, Miles jumped – no "leapt" was a better word – from one outcropping to the next. Lara followed, jumping and gliding. For a while, she wondered if she had literally followed him into hell itself. The thought that she could, that she would, was sobering.

She knew little of this kitsune fox beyond his name and his awesome power.

Lara had initially rejoiced when she saw the first wind swept dunes of Sandopolis, far in the distance to the southwest. At least it was flat there. An hour later, she cursed it all the same. Miles may as well have been a machine. Here, he simply spun his tails, his toes skimming over the sandy surface. Lara had to run in the more traditional fashion, and the two kicked up a long line of dust behind them. Threatening to leave her behind, Miles maintained his pace and then even increased it. Again, Lara had to press her physical limits just to keep up the marathon test of endurance, and again her new power revitalized her, filling her with strength and confidence.

Soon enough, before the sky was even dark, she saw the distant pyramids of Sandopolis. Here was the city at the heart of the wasteland, in the deepest recesses of the desert. Closer, she could see smaller buildings and ruins, clustered together in death, like a thousand mausoleums. Still, for all it seemed, Sandopolis was far from a land of the dead.

Occasional explosions made tiny puffs of smoke in the sky, as bright tracers from antiaircraft batteries fired up into the cloudless expanse above. This was Old Dingo City, and it was under siege. Advance elements of the Quaz Xialjyet were still many miles from the city, held by dingo forces further west, but occasional air raids were obviously the order of the day. That the bugs had a base close enough to support attacks on the city did not bode well for the cause of dingo resistance.

This had happened in her timeline.

She knew what happened. The dingo were resisting, and furiously, but the outcome was inevitable. The attacks on the city were to put pressure on the Hegemony government, which was even now meeting with the Xialjyet to discuss terms. Not of surrender, but of resettlement and relocation: of leaving Angel Island, and abandoning all claims, even to the blasted wastes that had (centuries ago) been the heart and soul of an all powerful dingo empire.

Why Miles was headed here, she couldn't fathom.

Despite the fact that it was inhabited by thousands of dingo, much of Sandopolis had gone untouched for hundreds of years. Great pillars of stone stood, untouched by any hands save those of time, wind and sand. It was here that Miles slowed down to a more leisurely run, as they weaved through an abandoned section of the city. It was hard to believe, moving as she did through the dusty ruins, that the once magnificent and ancient city had been deluged with water, and obliterated by the demon known as Super Perfect Chaos. No doubt, its job done, Chaos had retired back to the Emeralds, and taken all the water for miles with it.

Miles stopped.

Lara did likewise.

A hot wind blew in from the west, and the nearby ruins howled. A chill ran down Lara's spine, and the Chaos Emerald in her hands seemed to grow hotter. Echidna always avoided the City of the Dead, the Necropolis. It was said that the ghosts of countless murdered dingo haunted the ruins. No visitor to them was safe save for their kin, but a special hatred was reserved for the descendants of the echidna who had called down Chaos to level their city and end their lives.

"Right. Ghosts…" Lara said it, and meant for it to be sarcastic.

As if such things existed.

"Yes." Was all that Miles replied with, his tone completely serious.

Lara blinked, surprised that he had commented at all. She licked her dry lips, to ask him what he meant, but he was walking again. She followed, and made sure to stay close by. There was a voice I the wind, and it did not seem to be affectionate. He walked, and walked, down empty boulevards and across the sand swept remains of once vibrant plazas. They passed through a long empty area, that Lara guessed had once been an open air marketplace. In her mind's eye, she could imagine the busy crowds, the women and the children, as they watched a tidal wave of destruction advance from the north. Panic would soon turn to savage desperation, as they ran, trampling the small and the careless underfoot, in a vain attempt to escape the inevitable.

She shook her head, and banished the image.

Miles paused at a large intersection, before turning right. Lara took the opportunity to ask him something.

"What did you mean: Yes?"

He didn't stop, but he did respond, "Yes. This place is haunted."

"But what does that mean?" Lara had a hard time believing that her new companion was superstitious.

"Life and death. Black and White." He paused again, but only in his speech. "Normally."

"Normally?"

"Normally. One dies, and the spirit… or perhaps, if you prefer a less reverent and more esoteric definition: one's consciousness and personal waveform… disappears. I believed this was true of all things. I had run tests on the dying, when I was postulating my theories on Chaos Mechanics and their philosophical implications. I did not believe there could be a directing consciousness beyond that entombed within the flesh."

Lara listened; surprised with the depth of the answer he was giving her. He had been to quite the whole trip, generally answering her shortly, though never rudely. It was simply as if he was focused on other things, and his responses to her were but a part of him giving her attention. Now, he seemed to be back, wholly.

"Years ago, when I came here. I saw strange things. Things I could not explain. Deep within the Necropolis under Sandopolis, amid the tombs and the skulls… I had followed Sonic that far, and never once turned back. But in those dark and forgotten halls…" He paused again, and changed the topic slightly. "I saw things. Later, I wanted to, needed to, reconcile them. Explain them. Understand them."

"It confounded me till the end, till I understood and expanded my own consciousness. At the edge of oblivion, peering into that bottomless pit, I transcended the flesh. Even as my body burned away, I turned by back on it. Like a chick emerging from a shell, I was born for a second time. You see, Lara… weak consciousnesses do fade. For all but a fraction of enlightened individuals, death is the last travail – the final anguish one must endure. But for those few, there is more than the sad fate of non-existence. I am one of those few."

"Am… I?" Lara then asked, though she wasn't sure what answer she hoped for.

He didn't answer at first. Then, he said simply: "No. Not as yet."

"Is that why you are…?"

"This body is not flesh and blood. It is a pale imitation I have animated. I do not have the… expertise or experience to manufacture a living body. The complexity of it still eludes my thorough understanding. This… husk of a shell is all I have at the moment, so it will have to suffice until I find another way. My only other option was to take a body by force. But I will not stoop so low as that." Miles huffed.

"Regardless: this place was home to many souls, killed through unnatural means. Their collective will thus empowered, they remain to this day, between Shadow and Substance. I have been here several times since then, and my presence is permitted in all but the deep city. You, however…" He smirked, though she couldn't see it. "Well, they'll try and spook you a little."

Lara smiled at that. It sounded harmless enough. "This is more than you've spoken all yesterday. Why?"

"Because I know what has to be done," he said. "And because we're finally where I want to be."

He approached a seemingly innocuous ruined building, and pressed his right hand on one of the hieroglyphs, its color faded by the passage of time. To Lara's surprise, something under the sandstone seemed to shine, and then part of the ruin trembled and retracted into the ground. The inside was all stainless steel, a rectangle large enough for four or five to stand with room to spare. Miles walked in without hesitation, and Lara stood next to him.

"Down," he said, and the floor began to move. Behind them, the masked opening went back up and they began to descend. It was not so much an elevator, as a lift, since only the floor at their feet was in motion. Soon it stopped with a pneumatic hiss, but not before a large round door became visible, slightly inset into the otherwise seamless metal wall. It had a small control panel on it, behind a protective pane of clear crystal.

Miles tapped his finger on the crystal, over the areas with numbers, entering a code. He didn't seem to mind letting Lara see what he was doing, either. He entered the code slowly enough for her to remember it and commit it to memory. It made a little chime, but the door still didn't open.

"The Price of Freedom is Eternal Vigilance," he then said, and finally the door opened, rolling to the side. Lara noted how thick it was: at least two feet, maybe three. It could have doubled for a bank vault, except it was too small being only six feet in diameter. What lay behind the door was even more impressive.

It was a small hallway that led to a 'T' intersection. The walls were concrete, probably reinforced, but relatively smooth in texture. Inset into the ceiling were long halogen lights, which provided ample lighting. Somewhere ahead of them, she even heard what sounded like an air conditioner. The air had a tiny metallic taste to it, but at least it wasn't stale or musty. At it was much cooler inside than it was outside.

"This is Gold Zero. The center of my… of what used to be my network of bunkers and research stations. Given the vulnerability of my first Mystic Ruins base and the research I was doing, I decided to build a number of them. Zero and Seven were the most well hidden, the latter being the center of my most important and secret research, and the former being my last refuge."

Miles took a deep breath, and walked through the threshold.

"It has been a year since I was last here. It is good to see that it is still secure. The General is a man of honor for leaving it untouched, even after my apparent death…" The kitsune fox once called Tails took Lara in a quick tour, pointing out the layout. "Down the left there are two rooms: general storage and the armory. This way, to the right, are the living quarters – I arranged for three to be built, with two beds in each. Originally, I had this constructed as a final redoubt, a place for the original core Freedom Fighters to retreat to. If Knothole fell, and the temporary base in Casino Night became compromised, or if the situation became suitably dire, this is where I would take those I needed to rebuild."

"General Stryker offered refuge in Sandopolis to the Freedom Fighters?" Lara asked. "I didn't think he would be so generous."

Miles chuckled at that. "No. Not quite. He built this place for me on the condition that, if the resistance on Mobius Major collapsed, I would help him dissolve the Kingdom of Acorn and retake the mainland for the Hegemony. Styker is a pragmatist, as I am. I have affection for the Kingdom, because of my relationship with Princess Sally, but in a crutch situation the most reasonable plan was to consolidate power on Angel Island. If a traditional guerilla war failed, then I was not opposed to the idea of meeting doomsday weapons with doomsday weapons. With little to lose and much to gain, the dingo were of a similar mentality. That new struggle would have been waged from this bunker."

"I had thought myself prepared for that, but Helios… I underestimated its power. Snively claimed that it could annihilate the whole of Angel Island when complete." Miles hands clenched briefly. "He was not exaggerating in the least. Had I retreated here, all my plans would have come to nothing. So: I put measures into place to ensure that there was no retreat, and in the process I traded thousands of lives for millions. That is the burden I live with, which Sonic and Sally will hopefully never understand firsthand."

"In my time…" Lara began.

"No!" Miles cut her off, sharply, looking at her over his right shoulder. "Do not tell me of the future. Ever!"

Lara nearly stumbled at his sudden fury. "But… alright. If you want."

"I… don't mean to be harsh, but it is very important you keep any knowledge of the future to yourself, ok?" He offered her a weak smile, and his features softened.

Lara nodded. "I won't. I promise."

"Good." He continued on his way. "Thank you."

They walked past the three doors that led to the rooms. They were metal, set in concrete. Not exactly eye pleasing, but efficient and elegant, in a utilitarian fashion. At the end of that branch of the hallway, there was another door. It was also metal, and on it was a white plaque with simple black writing: C3I

Command, Control, Communications, and Intelligence

The door swung on simple hinges, like any normal one in use around the world. Lara felt a little disappointed, but the room beyond it was impressive enough to compensate. Computers and devices of all varieties covered the walls, along with large projection screens and even what looked like a holographic display in the center of the large room. It all seemed to be divided three ways. There was a raised platform ahead, and two smaller work enclaves, one to the right and one to the left. The side of the platform without steps up was occupied, floor to ceiling, by three supercomputers set side by side.

"Ever since the disaster at Station Square, I have endeavored to anticipate every eventuality." Miles smiled at that, and then just as suddenly frowned. "To plan ahead, and to be ready for anything. When so many lives are at sake, when the very world hangs on the razor's edge… I soon learned that I could not be as gung ho as Sonic. I could not rush in, unprepared. Not so long as I used more than my fists to solve problems."

"Fortunately…" he walked up the steps to the main platform, and started entering commands. "Planning ahead for one contingency has prepared me for another."

An alarm claxon briefly sounded, and a piece of the floor rose up like a pillar, just behind the holographic display. The sides of it opened up, and Lara saw a skeletal framework within it. It took her a few moments to realize the significance of it – they were storage slots for the Chaos Emeralds. The size and shape of the alcoves left little to the imagination.

"Put it in anywhere," the two tailed fox said, staring at the gemstone in Lara's hands with something akin to fear. "This machine was designed to isolate the Emeralds from the outside environment, but it will also serve to isolate us from the Emerald's corruption."

Lara admitted that it was a little creepy, mostly since it had once been part of Mulciber, but she didn't really grasp why he felt so strongly about it. Carefully, she placed it in an alcove. Letting go of it, her hands felt momentarily cool, like they had briefly brushed close to a tray of ice cubes. Miles entered another command, and the pillar descended back into the floor. Lara noticed that there was a little striped black and yellow warning on the floor where it had disappeared.

She looked up, and saw Miles let out a deep sigh of obvious relief.

"Ahhh… finally!" He closed his eyes and leaned back. After a few seconds, he stood straight again, his eyes on that part of the floor that hid the Topaz Angel Island Emerald. "It is a true relief not to have to shield us from that accursed thing."

"Shield us?" Lara asked, and watched as Miles quickly entered another command, and then went down the steps to join her.

"Yes. I had to blanket the will of the Emerald with my own. In my weakened state, it was not an enjoyable exercise in the least. Now, however, the presence of the Devourer has diminished to nothingness." He stopped in front of her. "Let's get you something to eat, and I'll explain things as best as I am able. Is that alright?"

Lara was more than a little stunned by his sudden courtesy. Had… doing whatever he had been doing taxed him so much? He seemed more cheerful now, more animated than she had seen him since the fight. And she was getting hungry.

"Ok!" she said, and smiled back.

"The bunker was well stocked when I last came here. Nothing fancy, but… I'll heat something up. This way." Again, he led and she followed. But this time Lara knew where they were going. This time, she felt like she was walking with him, not just behind him. He left her in one of the rooms, and came back with a plate of military rations. After last night's "whole lizard kabobs" it was a definite improvement. Lara started to feel good about things.

Then, he started to talk.

And, slowly at first, he explained what he intended to do, and what they were up against. She asked questions, some of which were desperate, and he answered them as best he could. It was good that she had eaten her food quickly, because by the time he was done not only had she lost what appetite remained, but she was more than a little scared as well. What was worst was that much of what he had planned fit into what she knew had already happened in her world's past.

A Shadow Jihad.

Lara hardly even noticed when someone knocked on the door. Even though Miles was still in the room with her. A second later, it opened, and someone new entered. She was a vixen fox, medium height, but with a perfect and flawless body – not a hair out of place, or a curve too subtle. Her fur was alternating red and orange, her hair black with a faint highlight of darkest blue, her eyes only two shades lighter. She wore black boots up to her knees, and there seemed to be some sort of armor grafted onto her shoulders.

Miles looked over her shoulder at her with a small smile. "Fiona."

* * *

**THE CYCLE OF AGES: A NEW WORLD ORDER**

**CHAPTER SIX:**

_**Master of Puppets**_

* * *

"Darling Miles…" Fiona took a step towards him, and framed her words so lovingly they may as well have been a prayer. Lara watched him give the newcomer a kind look, as the fox stood up. With a gasp, Fiona leapt at him, arms outstretched. He caught her in midair, and the two made a quick spin while Fiona wrapped her arms around his neck.

Then, to Lara's surprise (and surprised embarrassment), Fiona craned her neck to kiss him. He pulled back a fraction, keeping the endearment brief and chaste; without missing a beat, Fiona turned her head and rested her cheek against his chest once it was over.

"I missed you, Darling Miles…" she purred, and nuzzled him happily. He grunted in response, and patted her tenderly on the back.

"I was afraid I'd never see you again," she continued, and closed her eyes. "Never feel you again… I tried to find you, but… but…"

"I am sorry for leaving you, Fiona. You know I would not unless it was absolutely necessary," he spoke a little curtly, but with a gentleness and familiarity that belied a knowing relationship between himself and this new vixen.

"Excuse me?" Lara interrupted, a little sharply. "But we haven't been introduced."

Fiona's blue eyes seemed to examine Lara-Su closely and more than a tad dangerously. Oddly, they didn't seem wet, or to really even reflect the emotions Lara had expected. Miles stiffened a bit and gently tried to extradite himself from Fiona's grip.

She tightened it.

"Fiona Fox," the android proudly answered. "And _you_ are?"

"Lara-Su," Lara replied and stood up, glaring at the foxgirl. "I see you two know each other."

"Very well," Fiona said with a smile. "Darling Miles made me who I am today. I dare say that there isn't an inch of my body he hasn't molded, or a fraction of my innermost self he hasn't seen."

"Is that so?" Lara returned.

"She…" Miles started to explain.

"It most certainly is!" Fiona shot back.

"Fiona," Miles said it, not lovingly, but as a reprove. "Enough. I trust you didn't act this way around Rouge."

"I was only teasing." She sighed, and slipped her arms off his shoulders and from around his neck. "And, no Darling. I did not."

"Good. Now do not cause trouble with Lara here. The last thing I need is a feud between my right and left hands." Miles frown became softer. Then, as if remembering something, he looked to the door and the empty hall. "You must have snuck away without alerting her. How… is she? And… where is the Emerald? Why didn't you bring it?"

Fiona licked her artificially perfect lips. "My apologies, but there was a… _situation_ some time ago…"

* * *

Rouge reached behind her, felt along the wall, her hand almost at the panic switch…

"Please… don't do that." The figure stood, and walked forward, her face and body slowly becoming clear. Along with the weapon in her left hand: a rifle, of mobian design. The same design that Miles, or Tails, had organized mass production of years ago.

"Don't do it," the figure repeated. "Or…. Or I think I'll have to kill you."

"By the Source…"

Rouge saw the face, but almost didn't recognize it.

"Amanda?"

What was outlined in the half-light was not simply the girl Rouge had met before in Knothole. There was something wrong, something superficially alien, about her. Half her face seemed normal enough, even pleasant, save for the glassy look in her eyes. Her expression was not twisted into a rictus of fury or hatred like Rouge half expected. If anything, she seemed almost drained of emotion.

Outside, a cloud shifted, and moonlight streamed in.

Then Rouge saw it: first as a silver tendril down Amanda's jaw. It was slender, like a vein under the skin, and it split to disappear behind her cheek and continue down her neck. From there it became lost behind her ragged Freedom Fighter shirt. Rouge followed its likely path down, down, down to where it reappeared and snaked past her navel. Finally, it met something that glittered light blue – a familiar gemstone, buried into the flesh just above her pelvis and below her stomach, intersecting her torn belt which remained looped into her military pants.

Realizing then the horror that was before her, Rouge felt her voice catch in her throat. The image of a three eyes monster, a great and hulking monstrosity, and the stench of the dead assailed her mind. But this was no Ysbadadden, or she would have already bee splayed open and strewn across the room.

"Hello, Rouge," Amanda replied, her amber eyes sparkling.

He rifle in her hands never wavered.

"What are you doing here?" Rouge asked, not sure whether she should sound too demanding or not. "How did you get here?"

The younger girl's neutral expression didn't change. "Slipping past your guards was easy. But we mostly came for the Emerald you stole."

"We?"

"Cheese came with me. It was his Emerald, after all. He said that it was great opportunity, and that I should talk to you while he retrieved it." Amanda's voice sounded normal, in pitch and tone, but it still felt distant, like she was speaking through a videophone.

"He also said not to kill you," Amanda added.

Rouge gulped. "How nice of him."

"He said seeing you alive would keep me strong. Remind me of everything that was taken from me. Stolen from me. Of the lies I was told. Of the abuses I was made to endure…" Amanda was ranting now, and the corners of her mouth slowly turned upwards in a little smile. Her right hand, and thus her rifle, started to shake. Rouge tensed to move: jump upwards, and make for the door.

"So: I will not kill you. Even after all you have done to me. Even after ruining my dream. Even after… seducing my poor Tails. Or do I mean Miles?" she started to giggle.

Rouge wasn't sure what to say to that, but she tried to appease the girl. "Amanda… I'm sorry about what happened…"

"NO YOU'RE NOT!" Amanda snarled, her expression now full to the brim with fury. "Don't lie to me! You… you're nothing more than a human fucking whore!"

Rouge scowled at that, her teeth grinding together. How had she…?

"Yes," Amanda answered the unspoken question. "Yes, I saw that dream you just had. Don't worry: once Cheese reclaims the Emerald, you won't have anymore. Cheese says that you're a waste of time, and that the child... or children… Miles left with you are protecting you anyway."

Suddenly, her mood and mind shifted again, and tears came to her eyes. "What a sad joke! This wasn't how it was supposed to be! This wasn't how my dreams were. We were all so happy together in Station Square… You and Knuckles had some strange thing going on, and Amy and Sonic were nice to each other, and that left me with Tails. Tails and Cheese. Or was he Miles? And we all fought that stupid Eggman and laughed and played and, and, and Cheese can MAKE it that way! He'll find Tails for me, or Miles, it doesn't matter anymore, and I'll **MAKE** it right again!"

"Amanda…" Rouge desperately tried to reason with her. "Listen to me. Please. The Emerald is doing this to you…"

"What would know about _The Emerald_?" Amanda hissed, leaning forward as she said it. "You think you're so _smart_! You think you're so _mature_! But you don't know anything! **ANYTHING**!"

"Amanda. Think rationally. This isn't like you. Even the last time we spoke… you were angry, and I was rude, I'll admit that, but you weren't like this." Rouge bit her lip, and inched to the side of the bed. "I've seen where this leads, Amanda. It's worse than death, I swear to you. It's worse than death."

For a moment, Amanda's eyes seemed to clear. She blinked, and balked. But her aim remained on Rouge, and the batgirl didn't dare make a sudden move. Amanda opened her mouth to talk, but it seemed at first like her voice had failed her.

"Lies…" she said and shook her head. "When I'm complete, Cheese says I will be perfect. Perfect. And it won't hurt anymore."

"I don't know who this 'Cheese' is, but he's lying to you…" Rouge pressed forward with her verbal assault. "He's using you! You have to free yourself, or you'll end up like Ysbadadden!"

"N… nooooo…" her eyes glowed a chilly blue, and so did the Emerald. "No. You're wrong. You killed Ysbadadden, and you stole Cheese's Emerald. You killed him and you want to kill me. You want to laugh at me, and make me into the fool. Not again. Not again. Not again!"

Rouge tried to focus herself, and the power she had gained in that fight against the Mad God of Panthers. She could feel it, first in her heart, and then coalescing in her arms. Her foot touched the ground a moment before she heard the shot. It was so quiet; she almost couldn't believe it was real. A silenced round, a part of her mind deduced, even as the force of it send her back against the soft bed pillows.

Rouge lay there, an expanding pool of blood staining the sheets beneath her.

Amanda doubled over in pain. Her long ears fell over her face as she clutched her chest in agony, her assault rifle falling to the floor. Hisses and gurgles escaped her clenched teeth, and she stumbled back, crashing into the nearby dresser. Flailing, she knocked over a pane of glass and sent everything nearby flying. Looking up, her whole frame shaking, she saw that Rouge was still breathing.

"She isn't dead…" Amanda said, only half to herself. The pain began to visibly release its hold on her body. Prone on the bed, Rouge's right shoulder bled freely and forcefully. It was a painful wound, but probably not life threatening. Amanda picked up her weapon, and approached.

"I hate you. You stole my life." The one time Freedom Fighter aimed at Rouge's head, and the pain started again. Amanda adjusted her aim, this time to Rouge's left leg, and it diminished.

"I don't know why Cheese wants you alive, but you are fortunate. Very fortunate," Amanda said between ragged breaths. "Always fortunate. Then and now."

Rouge stirred, and reached up to her injured shoulder.

"I wonder…" Amanda continued. "Where is he? Why doesn't he come to save you? His precious Rouge? His big breasted pet fucktoy? Could it be: that he doesn't care?" She smiled again, a wide mad smile. She licked her front teeth. "Answer me. Say something. Answer me!"

Rouge rolled onto her side, and winced at the pain. She opened her eyes, and looked at Amanda with a mixture of anger and pity.

"Answer me," she repeated.

"Fuck you!" Rouge snapped. "Miles is… he's…"

"Alive!" Amanda yelled, and then lowered her tone. "He's alive. Cheese says that he is. Cheese says that he killed one of his friends: someone named Mulciber. He's alive, but he isn't here. Why? Why? I think he doesn't give two shits about you, Rouge, or those things you've got worming through your belly. Because he's mine. Just like I always dreamed. He's mine, or he dies."

"Think about what you're saying…" Rouge tore off a piece of the sheets, and tried to tie it around her shoulder. "Think for yourself. Free from Cheese. Free from the Emerald."

"I… can't…" she wavered between a frown and a smile, and shook her head violently. "Damn you! You'll see! You'll see! And then when Cheese tells me, I'll make you pay for what you did! To me! To everyone!"

"Don't you… blame me for what happened! The Miles you knew was just a shadow! Just a mask! I think… mine was too. I don't know. But I do know… without a doubt… that right now, the only feelings he would have for you are disgust! That Emerald is turning you into a monster!"

Amanda sneered, but at that moment, the door opened. From where she was, Rouge couldn't see what had entered, but she saw Amanda looking down at the floor and heard a scurrying sound, like little footsteps. She other girl quirked her head at something she had heard.

"Is that right?" she asked something around her feet, hidden in the darkness. Then, out of that shadow, a faint violet glow became visible. Amanda reached down and picked it up with her left hand. Holding it up into a shaft of moonlight, the outline and contour of a Chaos Emerald became clearly visible.

"Thank you so much, Cheese," Amanda continued. "I'll do just that." She turned to Rouge, and threw down her rifle again. "Watch me. Watch me, and see if you dare to laugh, or care to scream…"

In a single motion, she plunged the Emerald into her right shoulder with a spray of blood and crunch of bone. Rouge, despite being wounded in a similar area, couldn't help but cringe at the display. After that instant of pain, however, Amanda seemed to be in almost orgasmic ecstasy. Her right arm flexed, fingers curling and uncurling. Then, the silver taint began to creep from the wound in her shoulder, and down her arm.

"Oh yes. Oh yes! Like this! Like the caress of a god!" She joyfully screamed, as it moved further along, tearing up, transforming and remaking flesh and bone. Rust red, the color of dried blood, mixed in with the silver becoming chitinous, like organic armor. Soon, it covered her shoulders and down the side of her body to mid torso. Along what was had been her forearm, it thickened, and grew three long bladed spikes that curved back, a smaller spike also at the base of each. Round armored growths and tiny imperfections marred the surface of her new 'skin,' from the edge of her neck to the tips of her gauntleted hands. Her eyes flashed, and briefly, a third eye opened over her forehead, before closing and disappearing.

On the crown of her right shoulder, an amethyst gemstone glowed malevolently.

"If one Emerald makes me a monster…" Amanda lowered her eyes, and looked at – or even through – Rouge. "Then what does two make me? Oh? What's that, Cheese? Company? Yes. I see them. I suppose I am both the Lord of Eyes and of Judgment, now. How careless of you to lead them to me, Cheese. You should be more careful."

Amanda craned her neck, and faced the door.

A second later, it exploded off its hinges. Amanda leisurely watched, not bothering to take cover, even after the sound of weapon's fire shook the room. There were large shapes there that Rouge recognized: Omega, Heinrich, and two other dingo. Amanda smiled, even as great puffs of smoke impacted her chest, sending sprays of blood out her back.

She didn't even stumble when the roar of Omega's chainguns drowned out all else. Her body shook, and she had to brace herself with her right leg, but she remained standing. While the bunny girl danced to the tune of a round every hundredth of a second, Rouge felt strong arms pick her up, and carry her off. She looked up and saw Heinrich von Elbe – the dingo bodyguard assigned to her protection by General Stryker, and a mobian who had proven his mettle a dozen times over.

No sooner had Heinrich spirited Rouge out of the room, than Omega and the two flanking dingo security guards finally stopped firing. Amanda remained standing, her body riddled from top to bottom, feet to face, with bloody holes. Behind her, nothing remained. The wall was so much Swiss cheese in what little remained standing, and the rest quickly collapsed sending up a cloud of dust and debris.

Still, Amanda stood.

More than stood. She slowly raised her right arm. It, alone, was undamaged by the assault. Fingers splayed wide, she waved them just slightly, and then closed her hands into a fist. Faint silver thread flashed in the dying light. For a second, there was absolute silence. Behind the three interlopers a picture of a mountain slid in half, left and right parts of the frame falling to the ground. A second later, a lamp stand split into three pieces, a chair into four, and a large wooden desk into a half dozen.

The two dingo guards followed in short order.

Omega stood alone, his arms still leveled at Amanda. The heavyset robot fell to one knee, as the supporting leg fell limply to the side. A second later, pieces fell from his arms in severed bits of armor and machined steel. A single plate over his chest split just left of the middle, and fell to the ground. Still, Omega kept his head raised, staring unflinching at his foe.

Amanda smirked. "Cheese finds you amusing."

Omega replied with one word.

"Die."

From both his arms, retracted pods flipped out. A tiny pilot light ignited in front of each, and within moments half the room was bathed in death, of the fourteen hundred degrees Celsius variety. Omega watched silently, as everything in front of him became one with the flame, drowned in a sea of burning napalm. From out of his left and right sides, six apparently hollow tubes emerged, launching a flurry of mini missiles. The six erupted in a blossom of fire and force, demolishing what was left of the room, as well as the ones adjacent to it.

In the air, silver threads flashed.

And Omega's arms fell to the floor, severed cleanly at the shoulder.

From out of the inferno, Amanda calmly advanced. Her right hand was pointed in his direction, with her index and middle finger sticking out. Watching this Omega made a sound akin to a hiss, and leaned back. His chest area opened wide, revealing a pale blue lens. It glowed white hot, and then yellow, before a column of purest neon blue lanced out. It did not have long to transverse, before it encountered the unexpected in the form of significant resistance.

The waves of excited ions parted as they hit Amanda's right hand, shooting off to the side, and carving long trenches at thirty-degree angles from their original intended alignment. A second later, energy supply exhausted, the beam sputtered and died. In the middle of it all, Amanda, her body still on fire, still stood.

"You almost killed Cheese," she said, apparently uncaring that she was drenched in still burning napalm. "Tails may have a fondness for dangerous toys, but to let one run loose…?"

"My Primary Function is to protect Rouge the Bat." The armless and one-legged Omega remained stalwart. "So long as I am operational, I will not allow her to come to further harm."

"If I wished her dead… If I was allowed… you would not be able to stop me." She pointed a single finger, moved it up, and then down. Omega's left side sparked and broke off, the result of another laser clean cut. "However, it disgusts me that _he_ left _you_ behind to protect **_her_**. Are you ready to die, bodyguard?"

Omega remained stoic. "To be destroyed in the process of doing what one was created to do. Organic or otherwise, under those circumstances – fear and regret can not exist."

"How chivalrous and outdatedly noble. You know, Cheese tells me that I remind him less of Elishiva, as some remember her, and more as she originally was: Sekhmet was her name, then, and he says she was a being of fire as much as justice, the God of Slaughter first and Executioners second. Crimson as Murder on a Holy Day…" Amanda paused at that. "But… I don't…" She shook her head again. Flames danced off her body, but they may as well have been wisps of smoke for all she cared.

Omega didn't question her confusion. He acted. Launching himself with his one good leg, and then what few rocket motors he had left undamaged, he barreled through the air in one final suicidal attack. He got within a few feet of his target, before a cross of almost invisible silver threads converged, and sliced him to quarters. Falling out of the ruined robot that crashed at Amanda's feet, a small gray flicky bird twitched, once, before its head rolled away from its severed neck.

Amanda stared down at it, shocked.

She blinked furiously, and then seemed to notice the great splashes of blood on the far wall. The flames around her suddenly extinguished, and she stumbled backwards and fell on her tailbone. Looking, as if for the first time, at her right arm… she turned to her side and retched. On all fours she vomited, coughing up black bile. She looked down at herself.

Her entire body seemed not hurt, but rejuvenated by the flames. All seemed unnaturally fine, except for the cursed taint that ran all down her right arm and half way down her side. She felt great. She felt horrible. She felt invincible. She felt powerless. She wanted to die, but she didn't think she could.

A small blue and yellow shape approached.

"What… what are you doing to me…?" Amanda spat onto the ground, her mouth tasting as bad as she suddenly felt. Her Chao, her Guide, stood mute for a few terrible seconds. When it spoke it did so with no mouth, and with featureless doll eyes it saw straight into her soul.

"You are beautiful," it said, voice deep like a bottomless abyss. "Beautiful beyond words. As Sekhmet was, before she became enamored of weakness. Before she became more fond of justice than punishment. My beautiful, beautiful Cream… I am so proud of you."

"I…" Amanda shook her head again. She felt dizzy – no, she felt tipsy. Like she had drunk too much. It was all so wrong. So confusing. But it felt so warm, so wonderful. How could something wrong feel so right and so good?

"I love you, Cream." Cheese sounded so strong, so right, so wise. "And he loves you. All you have to do is find him, and take him."

"Y… yes…" she could do little but agree. She could feel Cheese's power and his love. He did love her. He did care for her. She knew it beyond a shadow of a doubt. What had ever made her waver? Rouge's lies! Rouge's trickery! Rouge's selfishness! She had sent those two dingo to die for her! It was all her fault!

"Hate her." Cheese commanded.

"I hate her…" Amanda slowly got to her feet, and staggered into the darkness. None pursued her. Minutes later, two Cyclone War Machines patrolled the area, supported by four helicopter gunships.

None found any trace of Amanda Rabbit.

* * *

Lien-Da could feel things spiraling out of control.

It was nothing a sensation she enjoyed. It made her feel helpless, and worse: useless. The last week had become literally a flurry of activity, for all she got done, and for all she delegated to her subordinates, she could literally feel her precious sense of control slipping like grains of sand through her fingers.

Things had looked on the up and up just a month ago, too, which made this sudden change potentially devastating. Back then; the Dark Legion – though no longer militarily significant (years of disastrous campaigns against the Guardian: Knuckles, the Brotherhood of Guardians, the Echidnapolis government, and event he dingo and Eggman Empire on occasion, not to mention the infrequent infighting) – had grown politically and economically influential. This was a new kind of power, a legal kind of power, and Lien-Da had reveled in it.

Her brother Kragok (may he rest in piece) had always been the better leader. He had inspired loyalty in those around him, and Lien-Da had always lived in his shadow. After his untimely death, however, she had stepped up to fill the void. Unfortunately, something about her did not engender the same respect her brother had enjoyed. It was entirely likely that she just wasn't as charismatic, or lacked that unspoken 'presence' that separated leaders from lieutenants.

She didn't hold that against Kragok. She just pushed forward, and tried to do her best with what she had, and in everything she did. It was with her coaxing that Dimitri has consented to remake the Dark Legion as a legal entity, and not a paramilitary army. It was her initiative that had put the newest incarnation of the Legion on the public ballot. While the People's Progressive Reform Party had not won any regional elections, it had legitimized her position in society as someone significant, and the 'Dark Legion' as a respectable organization.

In many ways, their cause continued forward without their prompting. The threat of the Eggman Empire, and of a dingo uprising, had sent the old men in EchidGov scurrying for solutions, and they found them in the same high technology that the Dark Legion had always espoused, and the Guardians jealously hoarded. The basic philosophy of the Dark Legion was already taking root, and soon (she was confident) it would bear fruit – a harvest that the new leadership, the _young turks_, of the Dark Legion could enjoy and grow fat on.

Dimitri, weary of such things, had left it to her.

Lien-Da had thought that it was Her Time.

Now, she wasn't so sure. The appearance of a new enemy on Angel Island had come as a surprise. The Legion knew about the different hives, of course, but not that they had been building up their forces for war. So the Dark Legion, and all its legal affiliates, had thrown itself behind the support of the Echidnapolis government, not just because it represented the bastion of the echidna people, but because Lien-Da was certain that, in time, they would become one and the same: a new and wonderful Technocracy that would stretch wide its hands across the globe.

She walked through the halls of the head offices of the Legion Exotic Metals Manufacturing – the largest and most important of the companies founded, run and operated by the Dark Legion as the People's Progressive Reform Party. LEMM made the rare elements and synthetics that were the foundation of high technology construction. Not only were they economically important, a national security concern as well. If either of the two Metallurgical Plants, one outside Echidnapolis, the other near Hydrocity, were destroyed or damaged, a dozen echidna war industries would soon grind to a halt. With a war on, security was a constant concern.

In a way, Lien-Da should have been happy. The war was good for business and for politics. The problem was… that all calculations and simulations had resulted in the same conclusion. The dingo would flee to the New Territories, Albion would seclude itself and hope to be overlooked, and Echidnapolis would fall to the Quaz Xialjyet. No matter how good business or politics became for her, it was moot if she ended up torn apart by some frenzied Xialjyet drone or attempting to eke out a sad existence as an exile in Albion.

Even the DL's old extra-dimensional stomping grounds were no longer accessible, thanks to the interference of the Brotherhood of Guardians and… one other. The one who had attacked the Legion's master and founder. The one who had drained him of power, and in so doing severed the links between this dimension and the pocket one that had been akin to 'home' for so many years.

Lien-Da saw that individual now, and felt the fear mix with apprehension and anxiety. There, waiting in the lobby like any other mobian, was a stocky mammoth in a brown business suit. His name was Mammoth Mogul, and eons ago he had ruled the world. Now, he sipped from a paper cup next to a water cooler, chatting with one of the other businessmen present for another appointment.

He turned his head, great tusks arching into the air, and smiled at her.

Lien-Da remembered that face, and those eyes, glowing with power. She steeled herself, and approached him. Flanking her, six guards also advanced step in step. Mogul looked in perfect health, which meant he had chaos energy running through his withered ancient veins. If that was true, then all the guards in the world wouldn't stop him from going what he wanted. He quickly excused himself from his conversation with the other male – a low level echidna from the Ministry of Resource Management, by the pin on his lapel.

"Lien-Da," he said, amiably, and held out his hand. She took it, and he raised the back of her hand to his mouth and kissed it gently. "How nice to see you again."

"I…" Lien thought better of a witty retort. "Thank you, Mr. Mogul."

"As I mentioned in the letter, I don't intend any mischief," he said, still smiling cordially. Lien wondered if his definition of 'mischief' included sucking the life out of someone, or trying to take over the world while claiming to be a living god. She didn't even want an answer. What if it was yes?

"The Grand Master has consented to meet with you," Lien-Da replied, and pulled back her hand. "I only hope you will not abuse his trust, or our good will."

"I think you'll find me a changed man, my dear," as Mogul said this, Lien-Da noticed a small twitch to his eyebrows. She motioned him to follow, and discretely wiped the back of her hand off on her black skirt. He gave no sign of noticing or caring. She had hoped for a silent trip up to Dimitri's office, but (perhaps sensing this) Mogul happily tried to start up a conversation.

"You're done very well for yourself lately, I see," he said, as the elevator left the lower section of the building. Here, the structure sloped, so that the elevators were on the outside of the building, giving those in them a wide-open view out over the city. Echidnapolis was a bustling metropolis, full of lights and life. On some of the taller buildings extra construction was taking place, installing additional city defenses: searchlights and small anti-aircraft weaponry. Lien-Da had no doubt that the city leaders had come to conclusions similar to those of the Dark Legion.

Soon, busy Echidnapolis would be a battleground.

'Just like Knothole,' she thought to herself. Knothole was, now, a half flooded ruin. Pounded to hell and back, it would probably be years before it fully recovered. Even at the breakneck pace the mobians were working at. Lien-Da had never been there before, but with the war over, she had seen pictures. Everyone had. Was that really Echidnapolis' future? If it was, would the populace be galvanized to fight and resist, as they had in Knothole, or would they flee and be cut down?

"The Dark Legion survives," Lien-Da responded, but her confidence was only skin deep.

Mogul looked out, enjoying the view. "So I've noticed. It will be interesting to see if you and yours will weather this storm."

Feeling a little more daring, she broached a subject that she had suddenly considered. "I don't suppose its anything you had a hand in, Mr. Mogul?"

"Me?" Mogul seemed genuinely offended. "No. No. This sort of thing really isn't my style. While you may not believe me when I say this, it is nonetheless the truth. No higher power was involved in this war. It is simply the product of circumstance and mortal intention."

"And yet: you are here," Lien-Da observed. "If for what reason but to interfere?"

"Well. Up till now, no higher power has been involved." Mogul's smile broadened to a wide grin. The elevator stopped soon after, and the door opposite the floor-to-ceiling glass opened. The fiftieth floor. The Legion Exotic Metals Manufacturing Building was the second tallest in the city, and newly acquired by the organization. If construction ever finished on the Talbott Tower (in two years), then the LEMM would have the third largest on the Island. The topmost floor was reserved entirely for Dimitri, and there was only a single express elevator from the bottom to the top (and two emergency elevators to different levels).

Lien-Da did enjoy how the initial impression of the sanctuary overwhelmed visitors when she brought them here. A tenth of the floor had been entirely removed, and replaced with an all-glass aquarium. There was a small artificial reef, and schools of imported fish from the Southern Sea. Mogul seemed amused, but not overawed, as she led him past guards and clouds of brightly colored creatures. An octopus wafted by to her left, and off to her right three stingrays glided over a sea of gently swaying seaweed.

There were several rooms to the private floor, but she knew Dimitri was in his office. She led Mogul straight there. Here, the walls and building were made over in the old echidna style. It was really all an illusion, but a convincing one. Lien-Da disliked the motif herself, and felt it gave the wrong impression of the Grand Master's tastes and the organization's goals (that the Legion was culturally backward, if technologically progressive), but his will was still law, and so it was done to his preferences. Mogul turned his head to briefly examine one of the frescoes on the wall, but didn't become otherwise distracted.

Dimitri's personal secretary, a former Legion commando named Tami-Li, gave their new guest a suspicious look. No doubt she feared for her master's safety. Tami's loyalty was admirable, and Lien-Da wished that she were the benefactor of it and not her great, great grandfather.

Tami spoke into her headset. "Mr. Mogul is here to see you, Master. Yes. Yes sir."

She pressed a few keys on the panel built into her desk. Two doors that looked like they were made of solid sandstone (but of course weren't) slid open.

"The Master will see you now, Mr. Mogul."

"Thank you," Mogul replied, quite politely. Tami had not hidden the hostility in her voice. Lien-Da frowned a bit. That was not so admirable. The younger female should have controlled herself better; she was lucky that Mogul didn't seem to care what she thought. And why would he?

Dimitri's office, in the same style, was a large open space, like an ancient echidna closed forum. Murals and frescoes covered the walls. There was furniture, of the highest quality, but the room was mostly empty. A few video screens were built openly into the walls, and there were a few cabinets as well, not little to draw the eye from the centerpiece: a great black stone desk, and the great echidna who sat behind it.

"Dimitri. Enerjak. How nice to see you again," Mogul said, and the three present all knew it to be a lie. He and Lien-Da walked forward.

"These will hopefully be better circumstances than the last time, yes? When you nearly killed me." Behind his desk, Dimitri leaned back in his chair. He was in his synthetic body, similar to the one produced during the Benedict Project. It looked passably realistic and organic, especially from a distance, but the texture of the skin and the look of his fur was still a bit off. The Dark Legion had yet to catch up with the Eggman (and probably the humans) in that regard, and the Legion had been too proud to ask or bargain for their help in the matter.

Still, as long as no one touched him, Dimitri still looked alive and well.

Rather than answer, Mogul reached into his suit coat. Lien-Da tensed, suspecting some kind of weapon, and then berated herself for being so silly. Mogul had no need for something so mundane in dealing with them. The ancient conqueror instead retrieved an item with which Dimitri was well acquainted with, but Lien-Da had only rarely seen.

"I come bearing gifts! Well… a single gift, anyway," Mogul announced, still smiling amicably. He held out the Super Emerald, the Angel Island Emerald, the color of aquamarine sapphire. Lien-Da watched it, transfixed. It shone more brilliantly than she had imagined. More so than she remembered. Had Mogul been the one to steal the Super Emeralds all those months ago?

Dimitri made no sound, but leaned forward in obvious interest.

Mogul strode forward, and placed the gemstone on the massive onyx desk, all in dramatic fashion. Dimitri, ancient but little more than a neophyte compared to Mogul, reached out to cup the Emerald in his hands. He got within a few inches of holding it, when he paused, the light from the great sapphire highlighting his fingers. Then, to Lien-Da's amazement, Dimitri drew back.

"You bait your hook well, Mogul," the leader of the Dark Legion said, and leaned back in his leather chair once more.

The other ancient also seemed a bit surprised. "What?"

"I have been one with the Angel Island Emeralds for centuries," Dimitri said, slowly. "I know their energies better than the lines of my own face, and the feel of my long dead flesh. What you offer me is not what I desire."

"Are you accusing me of pawning off a fake?" Mogul asked, straight faced.

"I am not," his opposite replied, emotions perfectly guarded. "This is a true Emerald, not one of the fakes Prower Dynamics can produce, but it is possessed by a force I have not encountered before: a presence I would not touch, for even an instant. Not for all the power in creation would I taint my soul with such a thing."

"I was not aware you had grown timid in your old age, Dimitri," Mogul taunted, and reached for the Emerald. The Dark Legion Grand Master made not the slightest effort to stop him from taking back the precious gemstone.

Mogul was frowning now, as he backed away. "You'll regret this, you know. When you sit, alone, in that chair… and wonder what could have been. What the feel of a real body is like. What the taste of real power is."

"The one who made the mistake is you, Mammoth Mogul." Dimitri was speaking as calmly as he ever had in his life. "You are as you were when we first met, when you had that Emerald in your chest. Then it gave you power. Now: it makes you powerless."

Mogul didn't respond. He simply put the Emerald away, turned on his heels, and left. Lien-Da watched him go, and escorted him out. But, no sooner had she exited her Grandfather's sanctuary than she found her eyes wandering to Mogul, and what he secretly held. And he noticed her interest, too, out of the corner of his eyes.

Yet he did nothing.

And when he was gone, out of the building and disappeared into the crowd, she wondered if she would ever see him again. And if he would again come bearing gifts.


	20. Master of Puppets II

They sat and listened to his words.

All around the word, radio carried his message far and wide.

Hershey could feel the anticipation in the crowd, a literal surge of primal energy. It threatened to sweep her up in it, even before he began. Great shafts of colored light filtered down from the windows of the old renovated cathedral, the largest standing building of its type on Mobius Major. Far from anything of real material significance, and built out of piety instead of logic or reason, it had escaped much of the world's destruction over the last decade. It had been almost nine years since she had seen the old sanctuary. Her boarding school had been nearby, and the nuns would often take the children on the long walk to the holy site.

The two-tone feline felt the energy of the crowd surge again, as he appeared. Dressed in the white and brown vestments of holy man, she almost didn't recognize him. There was standing room only in the great confines of the church, and attendants, lesser monks dressed in solid brown, tried to keep people from spilling into the isles. He was not yet ready to speak, however, letting the anticipation build.

The Chorus kept singing.

Hershey closed her eyes, and remembered being a little girl looking up at the impossibly high ceiling, and the tiny engravings – mysterious markings only the more initiated members of the congregation could understand. She remembered her mother's hands, as she helped to tie her daughter's new blue _babushkah_ tightly, but not enough to be uncomfortable. All the girls and women wore them on hallowed ground, but Hershey had an especially pretty and fancy one, because her mother made money starring in films for the soldiers fighting against the invading humans and overlanders.

Then, she had been filled with awe.

Now, she narrowed her eyes and silently resented those that had set her down this path, and back to this place. She wore a black headscarf now, one that blended in with her hair. It would make her easier to recognize, but that was exactly her intention. She wanted him to see her. She was here for business, not pleasure, and she had no idea who to pray to - not anymore.

The chorus finished the hymn, and he stood before the podium, confident and powerful. His habit still covered the sides of his face, but she could see his eyes. They were piercing and blue, but instead of black pupils, they glowed an unearthly ruby red. Several members of the congregation behind her cried out to him, as if his mere presence was invigorating and uplifting.

"Let us seek guidance…" He spoke slowly and firmly, projecting his voice masterfully. While there were microphones to transmit his words to others, far away, there were no artificial aids used in the church itself. They were all deactivated when he spoke. All heard him clearly, like a bell on a clear morning.

Where there was room, mobians went down on their knees, and stared upward. Hershey was in one of those spots, and looked up at the vaulted ceiling, and the enigmatic glyphs that adorned it. Where there was less room, those assembled simply looked up. It was not a comfortable position either way, but it was not supposed to be.

"Searching for truth is often painful, and it often discomforts us."

Hershey remembered the words, she had heard them several times in her youth, when her neck had hurt and she started to fidget, as children often did. Her eyes looked over the symbols and patterns above. She could discern only a few of them. And only a few could discern all of them. It galled her to think that he might be one of that select inner society.

After a minute, he spoke again.

"Bring to me those who wish to be mended and made whole through the Mysteries of the Source; those who wish to be uplifted. In their faith, they shall find a salve that heals all wounds…" His words were beautiful, and spoken with such sincerity and kindness that she wanted, with all her heart, for this to be a dream. Because she knew that the real him would never change so much, so quickly, so wonderfully.

Those who were bowed took their seats. Those who stood stayed that way. In the back, they parted, and hooded monks guided several individuals through to the front. There was muttering, in the moment before the choir began to sing once more. May seemed exuberant, but the clerics kept the mood solemn, as it always had to be. The first helped to the front was a blind mobian – a middle aged rabbit with bandages tightly wrapped around his eyes. A monk removed them, and Hershey could see black pits where the eyes should have been, and knew that it was likely a result of a deroboticizer malfunction.

The process was not yet perfect.

"Father Saul?" he asked, and his voice could just barely be heard, except for the amplification provided by a tiny wireless microphone quickly attached to his collar. The white and brown robed minister placed a hand on the other mobian's face.

"Your eyes have been taken from you…" Father Saul said, and somehow everyone heard him perfectly clearly, unaided. "Do you have faith, in the Source, and in those who Explore its Mysteries? Do you believe that I can heal you?"

"I believe, Father…" the blind mobian whispered. "I believe you can do anything…"

"Your faith will heal you. And you shall see." Father Saul's hand glowed softly. Hershey frowned a bit. Others in the crowd ooh'd and ahh'd. One whooped for joy.

When he pulled back his hand, the taller cleric bowed his head. "Open your eyes."

"My… my…" the mobian reached up to his face, and looked out over the assembled congregation. Deep brown eyes took it in, and a great smile spread on his face. Hershey had to admit she was impressed.

"I can see! Praise the Source! Praise you, Father Saul! I can see!" He wept openly, and others cried out for him. Others cried for Father Saul, the Miracle Worker. The Redeemed, who is now a Redeemer.

"Bring to me those who wish to be mended and made whole through the Mysteries of the Source; those who wish to be uplifted," Father Saul said again, extending his large white furred hands, and the monks brought another to him. "In their faith, they shall find a salve that heals all wounds…"

This one was a young girl, a feline, but calico with white and pink. She was coughing, and Hershey could see matted bald spots on the poor girl. It only took a moment to guess what the problem was: radiation sickness. Parts of the region had been a dumping ground for radioactive waste when Robotnick occupied the southern parts of Mobius Major. It was considered 'wasteland' anyway, and Robotnick had probably thought that poisoning the underground water supplies was killing two mobians with one radioactive stone.

"This girl… her spirit cries," Father Saul said, and kneeled down before the much smaller mobian. "She had been poisoned by the hatred and the malice of an evil man. Yet, I feel her faith is strong. Stronger than his hate. Show us your Faith, my child. Show us you Believe…"

He gripped her small shoulders, and she started to cry.

"Louder, child! Show us you believe!"

"I believe!" she cried out. "I believe in you, Father Saul!"

"You believe you can be healed!"

"I believe I can be healed!"

"The Source will save you! The Mysteries have been revealed to me, and the Source will SAVE YOU!" Again, his hands began to glow, and soon those same energies suffused into the little girl. She trembled, shouting her faith to all the world. In the crowd, people chanted encouragement. Hershey watched. She was just close enough to see a change – to see the girl's fur become more vibrant and healthy. The matted patches faded away. She licked her lips in awe. She had been told, but to see it for oneself…

"The Source has saved you…" Father Saul released her, and she fell back, where an attendant monk caught her before she hit the ground. People cheered, and others cried. Hershey watched, her expression guarded. Three more critically ill came in, and were healed in a similarly impressive fashion. Twelve others followed, more quickly – they had comparatively minor problems.

Then, Father Saul took the podium once more, and looked out over his congregation. They surged again with invisible energy, enthralled and entranced. And then, Father Saul reached up, and drew back the hood of his habit.

"Drago…" Hershey hissed, under her breath.

"Fellow believers… my comrades in faith, and my followers in the Mysteries of the Source…" Father Saul's eyes, Drago's eyes, burned with an inner fire. "I can feel your faith. It permeates the walls of this holy place. And I am most humbled to stand in the center of this most righteous storm. Cloaked in the Mysteries of the Source, we have nothing to fear, and great things to look forward to. We live in portentous times, times of destiny, times of fear and uncertainty! Let your faith guide and shield you; let it command you, and you shall be saved… I know it has saved _me_…"

Deep in the enraptured crowd, Hershey felt a chill run down her spine.

* * *

Knuckles braced himself against the wall. 

The ground beneath his feet rumbled, no: it trembled. Angel Island occasionally had windquakes, but they didn't feel anything like this. This was almost regular, like a heartbeat, or breathing. This was not the first time he had felt it over the last few days, but it was turning out to be the most drastic. The echidna Guardian furrowed his brows, and cursed Haven for the hundredth time.

If it wasn't the nightmares when he slept, it was the futile efforts to escape when he was awake. Or the horrible taste of burned Chao that lingered on his tongue for hours, along with that of recycled lab water, until it spread to his throat and made him want to retch. He's lost count of the number of times he'd stumbled into something in the dark, or had his heart skip a beat, thinking he'd heard a whispered voice or a distant scream.

The air smelt like a broken cesspool, even though he and Hunter had been careful about what was done and where. His eyes itched and burned, his skin felt irritated and flaky, and his nerves were stretched nearly to the breaking point. He couldn't even think about Hunter, or anyone else, without wanting to cave their face in. The human didn't seem to understand it, and he tried to be more personable if only for the company, but lately everything about everyone just made Knuckles angrier and more frustrated.

Half his body had been bitten or scratched by hellish creatures, and now he felt his grip on sanity starting to fray. Meditation only made things worse, the voices louder, the scratching in the walls, the hairs on the back of his neck standing completely on edge. He wanted to get out. He would have done anything just to see the sun again!

"Damn this place… damn it…" He slapped his hand feebly against a wall. Often enough, before, he had gone into a rage; lost himself in his fury. It hadn't done any good. He'd just hurt himself.

The ground trembled, more violently.

Knuckles kicked it, stomping with his foot until it hurt.

Everything suddenly froze, and Knuckles allowed himself a little smile. His little fit probably hadn't done anything, but it felt sort of like it did. He chuckled, and stomped at the ground some more.

"Come on you bastard! Come on! You done? Huh?" He chuckled a bit more. "Is that it?"

And then Knuckles hit his head against the ceiling, as the whole world seemed to lurch forward and down, bucking like a wild horse. He heard something roaring, something tearing, something breaking open, and he suddenly wondered if everything was going to come crashing down on his head, and he thought about Julie-Su, and his mother, and he realized that he didn't want to die. He didn't want to die!

He tucked into a ball, pushed off the ground, and headed for one of the lab doorways. They were heavily reinforced. But he never even got halfway, before an explosion of rock and metal raced down the corridor, and sent him sprawling, bowled over. It had come… from the direction of the elevator!

A glimmer of hope lighting his features, he started to run. As he got close, he saw Hunter, his makeshift spear and handheld flamethrower at the ready. He probably figured it was a wave of those little demons, coming to finish them off. Knuckles scoffed. It was a rescue party, blasting through to get them out! He kept running, expecting to see the Chaotix: Vector, and Epsio and Charmy, and Julie, and maybe even Mighty, rappelling down from the elevator shaft to see, first hand, if he was ok.

His friends!

His friends!

He waves his hands, trying to clear the dust and smoke. The floor here was slanted, and the ceiling distorted. Knuckles could see it: see the elevator doors. They were open. Wide open! After all that effort, after all the pain, of trying to pry or bash them open, they were gone! He looked on the floor, but didn't see them.

"Guardian!" Hunter yelled, and Knuckles stopped in front of the open doorway.

"They're not here…" Knuckles said his voice little more than a whisper. "Where are they? Why aren't they here?"

"Who?" Hunter asked, standing nearby. He, too, looked a bit frayed. Physically. Emotionally, mentally, he seemed totally unaffected. And Knuckles was sick and tired of him saying that the voices, the whispering, the horrors… were all in the echidna's mind. Hunter was the psycho killer here, after all. He was just a yiffing loony toon. Knuckles hated and resented that he slept like a log, while the noble Guardian of Angel Island tossed and turned and wished for a moment's peace.

"My yiffing friends!" He swiped at Hunter, who nimbly jumped out of the way, a neutral expression on his face. It only made Knuckles angrier. He set another powerful haymaker the human's way, faster than before. Knuckles had traded blows with Sonic and other great fighters many times. He almost always fought angry. It wasn't normally a problem.

Hunter sidestepped, avoided Knuckles' momentum, and a second later the echidna had his face planted right into a wall. Hunter always did that! He stepped outside Knuckles' reach, and when the Guardian lunged, he pulled some fancy move, or tripped him, or some other cowardly trick! Knuckles pushed off the wall his own momentum had sent him crashing into, and wiped his face with the palm of his hand.

"You fight like a coward!" He roared at Hunter, who just stood by. Not smiling. Not smirking. Just watching, critically. Disapprovingly.

"Typical mobian. No technique at all." He looked to his side, at the open elevator shaft. His eyes wandered up. "Looks like it just moved about five meters up. It looks… jammed. These walls are crooked, I dare say."

"What?" Knuckles quickly forgot about Hunter, and pounding the human into fine red paste, and dancing on his corpse, and … and… he shook his head. Walking to the shaft and looking up, he confirmed Hunter's analysis. The elevator was still there. Wedged between them and freedom. There'd be no getting past it. Knuckles could climb very well, but it would never give him any leverage to move or break through the bottom of the lift.

They were still trapped.

Still trapped!

Knuckles felt a sudden and unexpected welling of anger at his so called friends. His friends who had abandoned him! Left him to die in a hole in the ground, with some crazy human murderer! He cursed them. All of them. Even Julie. He closed his eyes, and felt an updraft of wind from down below. It seemed to be howling, first just one long roar, and then a string of obscenities.

Mad images danced through Knuckles' fatigued mind. He saw Julie laughing and drinking with Vector, and then the two of them together in his room. She was moaning and screaming and he was pawing at her like an animal. And then Mighty and Espio were there, going through his stuff, laughing and laughing and laughing. And Charmy had someone in his hands – the fire ant, Archimedes, who had been like a surrogate father to Knuckles, and he was choking the life out of him, screaming curses like a madman.

Knuckles began to hyperventilate.

"Get a hold of yourself!" Hunter's voice interrupted, and Knuckles opened his eyes. The damned images disappeared back to the abyss that had spawned them.

"W… what?" Knuckles squinted his eyes, but was afraid he'd end up seeing … more. More that he never wanted to see. More that he never wanted to think about.

"Do you know what's down there?" Hunter asked, inclining his head to the pit before them. "Is there a secondary control facility? I don't know the layout of this place; I'm hoping you do."

"A secondary… a… ah…" Knuckles wracked his memory. He knew this. He just needed to clear his head. "Yes! There is!"

"Good!" Hunter actually smiled. "And it can control the elevator, right? Or open some other was out of here?"

"A couple stories down… there's life support, I think. And the reactor! Though it's probably sealed off. There's also a secondary lift that goes all the way down to the Observation Lounge, and the access stair to the Emerald Chamber. There used to be a passage in and out through there, too, but it's sealed off now. But…. I'm pretty sure there's a secondary emergency control center next to the buried computer core. That's it!"

Knuckles clapped his hands together gleefully. "We can use that to get a message out for help, even if it can't fix this damn elevator! Or… or…"

His expression changed, become more thoughtful.

"If I could get to the Master Emerald itself…" Knuckles began to laugh. "I could power up and just tear my way out of here!"

Hunter didn't seem to like that option. He frowned a fraction. "And if you collapse the place in the process?"

Knuckles looked at him, and knew that the human was jealous. And scheming. He wanted Knuckles to stay weak. Hunter probably had plans to kill him, and seal the Emerald. Knuckles knew he couldn't let that happen. The power of the Master Emerald, in the hands of a madman like Hunter?

No.

Never!

* * *

"I will never lie to you, fellow seekers of Truth in Mystery! I will not coddle you from the world! There is evil. There is cruelty. There are monsters. I know. I've seen them… met them… before I stepped into the light I lived in the darkness. I know how the weak litter the dinner tables of the strong, and the unjust. But only for so long! Only for so long, before the righteous rise up and punish the wicked!"

* * *

Nail could sense that he was close. 

To both of them.

He had wandered the desolate and broken reaches of the Forbidden Zone, where the Mountains met the volcanic wastes on the east end of Angel Island, for what seemed like weeks. Narrowing his search had not been easy, but he had been methodical, and diligent. Haven was well hidden from prying eyes. There were false entrances, traps and falls, and technological illusions. None of them deterred Nail.

He was Knuckles' clone, after all, and he had the same perseverance.

But as he worked, and waited, he could not help but feel apprehensive. So much of what Athair had told him was now in doubt, even as Nail wished dearly to save his mentor. The elderly echidna had been the only one to show him kindness… and acceptance. His own creators, Mya Florentine and her boss: Mastermind, had dismissed him as a failure. Even after all he had done to earn their love and respect.

No.

Mya Florentine had no love to give, especially for a failed experiment, and Mastermind's heart was as bitter and shriveled and black as Robotnick's. Athair had been everything they weren't. He had been wise, and supportive, and like a father to Nail. But how much of that had been Athair's decision, and how much had been Merlin's hand – Merlin's prompting. It wasn't a question he wanted to ask, or have answered. Not really.

Merlin. The thought of the creature that empowered Nail, that granted him the abilities he was so proud of, gave the echidna pause. Merlin frightened him. Merlin played a terrible game, with all the world as pieces, and he had for untold millennia. From what Nail suspected, he had organized religions, created races, built and toppled kingdoms. What held such a being in check?

Did Merlin know moderation, or was he so powerful that he was literally the only way, free will be damned? Was the alternative this Devourer creature – a being of supposedly bottomless evil and anarchy? No, of course: there was one other. One who Nail had thought had gone so astray.

Nail remembered well the first time he had seen Tails.

He had known about the fox before, of course, thanks to Mya and Mastermind. But knowing and understanding are two very different things. He had first seen Tails racing Sonic, as they often did in their free time together back then. The boy, so young, had shown such power and precision to his movements and techniques… it was remarkable.

At the same time, Nail had no idea what to do about it. Tails had seemed to be in competent hands: it was learning from the best. He had learned to run and fight from Sonic and Knuckles, he had learned strategy, tactics and group dynamics from Sally, and augmented his natural intellectual pursuits by learning from Rotor, and even Robotnick. What did an outsider like Nail really have to offer? So he was content to watch.

Indeed, at the time, just sitting back and watching had a great moral appeal to it.

Then the boy had disappeared to Station Square, and he came back changed. Nail could see it, even with his very infrequent visits to Knothole. Athair seemed to sense it too, but the old echidna did not seem worried at the time and certainly made no effort to intervene. Tails gradually became more and more distant, working by himself, obsessing over his work. To this day, Nail had no idea what had provoked the change in mood, but given Tails' later 'dealings' with females, he suspected it had something to do with one he knew, and the like likeliest culprit there was Amy Rose.

Then, finally, it had come to Tails growth spurt, and physical changes. They seemed to match the way his mind had turned, giving him the physical presence and power he'd always had mentally. Nail partly blamed Tempest for how things turned out (or at least Tempest's bizarre kitsune outlook on life) but now he saw the coincidences for what they were. He realized why Athair had so suddenly urged him to visit Knothole, and why he had later dropped those hints about the boy's training.

Merlin.

Always pulling the strings. Invisible strings that his puppets didn't even know existed. Only later, only when he knows that the strings aren't even necessary, does he outright explain himself. Nail suspected that Merlin had to be very proud of his indirectly engineered protégé… Miles was just like him. Something that boded both well and ill for the future of Mobius.

Nail clutched his cape close to his body, as the wind howled.

There was a distant storm brewing.

The clone inclined his head when he sensed it, a sharp spike to his finely honed senses. There was a smaller one, too. He waited. He watched. It only took a little longer, and then two forms became visible, walking out from behind a jutting outcropping of rock, one of millions on the broken landscape.

Miles Prower (did he even answer to his old nickname anymore?) walked calmly up a gravel strewn path, following his nose. A smaller mobian, an echidna girl, followed in his footsteps. She held herself with some confidence, but also noticeable anxiety. Nail frowned at his one time student's approach. He turned away, and looked out to the east, where the sea stretched for miles before meeting the Mobian mainland, on the horizon.

It was a sight none would ever have again, if Nail succeeded in what he had to do.

"Nail…"

It was Miles who spoke the first words between them.

"Miles."

The fox stood next to his former teacher. He held out his hand, and helped Lara to stand in between them.

"This is Lara-Su. She will be accompanying us in our little descent," Miles said, and Nail felt a little annoyed that the fox was dictating terms.

"You can't seem to stick with one breed for very long, can you?" Nail asked, and saw his target bristle at the remark.

"What does that mean?" Lara asked, expressing her anger more openly than her companion.

Nail thought briefly about what to say. He decided to swallow back any urge to be petty, and instead be mature. It had never been a problem before, but his former student… it was a different case. It was personal. Like Mya, and Mastermind. And Athair and Merlin. Looking at the fox, Nail wondered if ever there'd been thoughts of friendship, of companionship, of respect… or if, the whole time Nail was sharing his secrets and his hopes for a better future, Miles had just been learning what he wanted, and biding his time, playing the naive clone for a fool.

"Nothing. A pleasure to meet you, Lara. As I'm sure you know, my name is Nail," he extended his hand, and Lara took it in a firm handshake.

"Miles told me about you," she said, but he wasn't sure exactly what she meant by it, if anything.

"You look careworn, Nail," Miles said, but in the emotionless and observant tone Nail knew so well. Neither were sure, it seemed, of how they stood with the other.

"And you look surprisingly good…" Nail then added, "For a corpse."

Miles cracked a grin. "I know a very good embalmer."

"So do I, apparently." Nail grinned back, but it was a guarded response. The moment came and went, and both resumed their former expressions and attitude.

"Haven," Miles said, and there was a dangerous look in his eyes.

"Haven," Nail agreed.

"Are we going to get going, or what?" Lara prompted, and the two looked at her and started to run, following Miles' nose, and Nail's sixth sense. Together, the hidden refuge of the Guardians did not long elude them.

* * *

"What will you do, when the flames come for you? To whom will you seek answers? To whom will you pray for guidance? And for salvation? The wicked will not go quietly into that Dark Pit! They will only be emboldened by death and suffering! In the face of this, how can any good mobian do what the Source commands? Bullets and bombs may assail the flesh, but it is fear that wounds the soul most deeply… and it is fear that in turn rules the hearts of evil beings. They fear the light of the Source! They fear the light of our convictions! They fear the holy flames we shall cast them down into! Let them Fear, and let us be cloaked in the cool blanket of faith! All Praise to the One True Source of All!"

* * *

Constable Remington stood among his men, looking up at the monitor in the Echidnapolis Security Agency Command Center. Dimitri watched it on a projection screen in his office, Lien-Da standing discretely to his right. Lara-Le, Knuckles' mother, and her husband Wynmacher watched in the living room of their villa, just outside Echidnapolis, their son Mace held close between them. 

King Max watched from his seat on the Golden Throne, with the rest of the Royal Family nearby, even his estranged son and the boy's commoner wife and child. Nearby, Sally reached for Sonic's hand, and found comfort in it. Thousands of miles away, Rouge watched the proceedings on a small video screen on her armrest, the sky outside her window passing by unnoticed.

And Hive Prince Kenichi…

Signed the papers that would give him the freedom to strike at the vulnerable underbelly of the echidna. Cameras clicked and flashed and recorded, but there was otherwise complete silence in the large wind swept tent that had been set up outside Sandopolis. Dingo military officers and their guards, in dress uniform but wielding anything but ceremonial weapons, watched closely with grim expressions. Loyal Xialjyet Hornet warriors also stood nearby, their mute and emotionless faces unmoving, and their eyes unblinking even in the dry afternoon heat. Those echidna that were present wore worried expressions, and Kenichi drank in their fear.

Kenichi carefully affixed his name to the document.

Across from where he stood, on the opposite end of the table, General Viktor von Stryker was handed the same constitution; the same binding agreement. He hesitated only a moment, before putting down his name beneath Kenichi's. The hushed silence seemed to break, as more than a dozen individuals present gasped, some in indignation and others in disgust. Stryker slowly put down the pen, his left hand clenched tightly.

"The deed is done…" Kenichi said, and turned from Stryker to the cameras. With the treaty signed, there was no further need for pretence of civility. There would never be friendship, or even an inkling of camaraderie or respect, between the Quaz Marat and the leader of a beaten people. Stryker was out of the way, and that was all that mattered.

Let Charmy have his little echidna toy.

Kenichi was still _Quaz Marat_. Kenichi was the one who had forced the dingo from Angel Island, and Kenichi would be the one to lead his forces north and into the vulnerable heartland of the echidna. And when he stood upon the burning ruins of Echidnapolis, and Hydrocity, and Marble Garden… who would care for Charmy and his scheming? The Weight of the Hives would smash all that opposed it!

"The articles are signed," Kenichi said in a booming voice not fit for mobian ears. "These proceedings are concluded. The dingo will unconditionally withdraw their forces and recognize the right of the _Quaz Xialjyet_ to the entirety of what was called Angel Island… It is now Our Island: The _Quaz Tora_. No other power will sit on our lands, nor will we recognize the legitimacy of any. The Ancestral Homeland of my people will be returned in full and interest shall be paid with blood and tears! Unconditional Surrender is the only option left to those who oppose us. We will not stop. We will not relent. We will grind you into the dust."

Kenichi smiled, and it was all cruel teeth and serrated mandibles. "I leave you now to ponder the inevitable… Perhaps we will meet again in Echidnapolis?"

He laughed, turned, and walked away.

"General!" "General Stryker!" "General!"

With Kenichi gone, the press felt bold enough to assail the other world leader who was less likely to have their throats summarily slit. The dingo General held out his hands in a gesture for silence. He looked half the commanding presence he normally had, with his brows straight lines across his forehead, and his eyes surrounded by wrinkles. After a few moments of feverish question asking, the reporters quieted down, holding out their microphones in anticipation.

"We… the dingo people… have suffered much these last few years," Stryker's voice was subdued, sad, remorseful. "We have acquitted ourselves with conviction and love of duty. With honor and love of country. And we have bled… oh, how we have bled. From the alleyways of Echidnapolis, to the streets of Knothole, to Old Dingo City herself. A people can only loose so much blood, before it kills them. The Dingo have no fear of battle, but no desire to die. Especially as our allies have yet to rise to our defense."

Several cameras flashed.

"We must withdraw from this land we love… it is the hardest command I have ever given, ever asked of my subordinates. Many have already left for the New Territories, and we must follow them. Angel Island is lost to us. It was always a dream, to reclaim the lands of our former glory… but now we must look forward to the future, not back to past slights and insults. The dingo people honor the treaties they sign. No shot will be fired in aggression against the new masters of this blasted and broken land. Dingo strength must not be wasted on such foolishness. This fight is over."

He turned his back on the flurry of questions that followed his statement, and motioned for his troops to escort him out. They did so without a word, but General Stryker could feel their inner turmoil. For the dingo to leave the lands that had been the seat of their power, for them to turn away after so many years of fighting and dying and planning and dreaming and hoping and praying… It felt like a betrayal worse than death.

But it wasn't worse than death, not for the young.

"The Dingo, as a race, must not die out," he whispered to himself as he walked, flanked by his loyal soldiers of the Hegemony. "There will be new ways, and new leaders. But the Dingo must survive."

Leaving the tent, he could once more see the darkening sky, and the distant pyramids of Old Dingo City. He had not been born here, nor had his father, or his father before him. But this was the land of people. This had been the seat of a great empire. It turned his stomach to see it, like this, now.

"I don't think… I'll ever see this place again…" He closed his eyes, and took in the desert air. "Give me some room and some time, Captain. I'm expecting someone, and I don't want to be disturbed."

"Yes, sir," the Captain of the guard saluted, and directed the other soldiers. Stryker stood for some time there, alone. Silent. His guards had fanned out to keep away intruders, and the General thought back to the old days. Before New Dingo City had been destroyed in that dimensional pocket. Before he had met a young echidna named Knuckles, the latest in a line of meddling Guardians. Before the battles with the Echidna, the Dark Legion, the Guardians, Mammoth Mogul, and even the Eggman… there had been a young and ambitious dingo with dreams of a restored Empire.

That General Stryker had died today, with a pen in his hand.

"Sir?"

It was Kage. Stryker opened his eyes, looked behind him, and saw his boy. He was leaner in build than his father, with his mother's dark black hair. His mother, who had not survived the collapse of Dingo City. Viktor had never remarried; Dingo mated for life, and were faithful to each other even in death. But Kage's fur and his eyes, they were unmistakably of the von Stryker lineage. Looking at the Major General in his pressed and prim _Kommissariat_ uniform, Viktor felt a surge of pride he normally hid beneath criticism and complaint.

"General. Why did you call for me?" Kage asked. "I have work to…"

Stryker smiled. He had done so the very moment he had made the decision to sign those papers, and trade a dream for a future. It was the end of one dingo story, and the beginning of another. A better one, Viktor could only hope.

"You want to stay behind," the elder Stryker stated. "I can see it in your eyes."

"Well… I would prefer our enemies bleed each other dry, yes. The echidna can not survive without our help," Kage stated, matter-of-factly. "The Xialjyet will not be satisfied with this Island. They will spread like a plague. Or a cancer."

"Would you disregard your given duties… throw away your rank… to fight? Would you do this, knowing that you are doing what benefits the Hegemony?" Viktor asked, though he knew the answer. "You would. But I'm afraid you cannot. You will be needed elsewhere."

"The _Kommissariat_ has many fine officers who…"

"I do not speak of your Toyboys, your gadgeteers and spies… I speak of _our people_. They will need a leader who has not failed them. They will need someone the officers respect… someone I respect." Viktor paused, and let out a deep breath. "I trust I have made my will clear?"

Kage stiffened, as he did. "You have, General."

"Good. Good." He turned his back on his son and looked away into the distance. "You are dismissed, Major General."

"Sir. Yes, sir." Kage then added, "I will endeavor to do my best and to make you proud, Father."

Stryker heard his son's measured footsteps as he walked away, across the sandy ground. It grew darker, and the stars could just barely be seen through the clouds. It looked like there would be a storm to the north. That was fine. It would not interfere with the dingo, then. One last favor granted by the fates to one they had so often cursed.

He reached to his waist, and unclipped his holster.

'I cannot leave this land that I love. This land that I have lost so much for. All I have ever done was for this Island and for this land of our grandfather's greatness. Now, finally, I will serve the dingo people better as a symbol than as a leader.'

Slowly, he lifted his trusty ACS-112 from its resting place. He and the weapon had been through much – fights against robots and cyborgs and zealots and gods. It was hardly the most powerful gun the dingo made use of, but it had acquitted itself well given the circumstances. The old General felt a kinship for it, now. Opening his mouth, he closed his eyes again.

'Let the old guard die with me, and pass into history…'

The last thing he saw was a female with long black hair, her arms wide.

* * *

"Not far from here, fellow seekers of Truth, a tyrant sits on a Golden Throne… a mobian who claims to have the favor of the Source. A mobian who claims that he alone can commune and delve the Mysteries of the Divine! A mobian who pretends to Understand what he cannot begin to comprehend! He takes your sons to whip as slaves for his army! He takes your land to fuel his greed and win the favor of fellow aristocrats! He takes your hard earned moneys to spend on grandiose palaces! I have seen into the Source, and it has Saved Me! Redeemed me! I have seen into the Source, and I have heard how it cries out for a better world!"

* * *

Geoffrey St. John eyed the angry mob with disdain. 

His troops, however, seemed slightly intimidated. Outside the walls of the gated compound, the mobians chanted and yelled, making demands. Geoffrey wanted to laugh. As if commoners had any place making demands of their betters. The whole of the Southlands seemed to seethe with traitors, like maggots in a month old corpse.

"You don't seem very popular, Mr. St. John."

"Shut your mouth!" The skunk pistol whipped the source of part of his ire. The rat cringed from the blow, another patch of white fur stained red with blood. The albino still managed a genteel smile, even with one of his teeth missing.

"I'm sure it isn't personal…"

"You just keep talking, Mr. de Chapelleverte. You talk your way right to the gallows, you Source cursed Traitor!" Geoffrey sneered, and ordered the two soldiers carrying their prisoner to move forward, away from the now ruined villa behind them. Francois de Chapelleverte, aka Minalkra, was finally in the hands of His Majesty's Finest, and St. John mad no intention of losing him. Or killing him.

He would be made an example out of.

As Minalkra, the former nobleman would be put on trial for insurgency, sedition and murder. What truly disgusted St. John was that this white rate next to him was so apparently petty in his justification for betrayal. His father, Baron Jean de Chapelleverte, had the honor of being among the first called to fight for King and Country during the Great War. Three of Minalkra's older brothers had even been officers.

Incompetent officers, but still officers.

That the King had finally purged them and their father, after losing no less than three separate engagements with the overlanders… it was no surprise. Perhaps a bit unfortunate, since no mobian commander ever really beat the humans at their own game, but hardly some unique set of circumstances. The remains of the southern nobility had all been out of Maximilian's Court for too long. They had obviously begun to forget themselves, and their sworn oaths of allegiance.

"Don't you see them, St. John? Don't you see how they move? How they press against those bars? Freedom, like a gas, cannot be contained or held in check without an equal force in opposition to it. You cannot stop what is to come." Minalkra chuckled, and licked a bit of blood off the side of his mouth. "Killing me won't extinguish their hopes and dreams. It will just fuel it."

"The Kingdom of Acorn has survived eight hundred years… it has survived civil war, planetwide conflict, evils without pale…" St. John growled through gritted teeth. "It will not fall to a mob of peasants, or bow to pressure from a defrocked nobleman! A noose will deal with your wagging tongue, and the sword will put those idiots back to work!"

Minalkra grunted, as the guards roughly carried him to the waiting APC. He was wounded, and probably should have received medical attention where he had originally been shot, but St. John was more concerned with leaving the area. If he was to die in a few weeks anyway, what did it matter if he lost a leg beforehand? The crowd roared their outrage behind the compound walls, and with a groan, one of the gate supports broke and fell to the ground amid chunks of concrete.

"Move! Move! NOW!" St. John yelled, and then activated the radio clipped to his shoulder. "All units! Regroup!"

There was confusion as the soldiers ran to St. John and the APC. In seconds, just as Minalkra's form disappeared into the confines of the military vehicle, the gates fell to the ground with a crash, and the crowd rushed forward. They were wielding whatever was at hand, waving pipes and throwing stones.

St. John had to shield his face as a rock bounced off the back of his hand with considerable force. He cursed, as he saw a group of them heaving to swamp the APC. They wouldn't be able to tip it, but they would cut off his only avenue of escape.

"Disperse! Disperse or be fired upon!" He yelled, and the crowd hissed and howled. Another rock barely missed Geoffrey's head, just clipping his ear. It was enough to draw blood.

"Sir!" One of the soldiers gasped, not sure what to do.

"All enemies of the crown…" The skunk lifted his semiautomatic handgun, and aimed it at the angry mob "Are forfeit of their lives…"

St. John fired the first shot.

But it was far from the last.

* * *

"But that world cannot take form, cannot be molded by our collective Faith, so long as an unbeliever sits on the Throne of Kings! Mark my words well, children of the Source… one day, years from now, you will look back on these portentous times and know you have done as the Source willed. You will have remade the world." 

Father Saul raised his hands into the air.

"Source give us Strength for the Struggle Ahead…"

* * *

King Maximilian Acorn was not sleeping well. 

It was the same dream that had haunted him before. He seemed to have it every other night, now. It got to the point where the Queen had even mentioned that he had began to trash in his sleep. The Royal Doctors had prescribed sleeping medication, which helped… or had helped. The dream was back again.

Once more, he was playing the role of Marius II Acorn, the King who had nearly lost his Kingdom to the betrayal of his daughter and a rogue knight; the King who had saved the Kingdom, and preserved it from certain destruction and disordering. King Max once again stood defiantly on the battlements of Mobtropolis in that far off time, shouting a challenge to the False and Pretender King, who sat on his black horse a mile away.

And, as always, the Pretender King turned and fled when it became obvious that his troops would not be able to secure the walls or maintain the siege. Max knew what would happen next. He seemed to leave the body of his great ancestor, and float over the battlefield, past the siege engines and the waiting cavalry and the shattered bodies. Only to stop at a black tent in the enemy camp.

The King knew what was next.

He floated through the roof of the tent, to where the Pretender reunited with his conspirator. Jezebel was, without a doubt, Sally's spitting image. In her beautiful dress, amid the plundered wealth of half the Kingdom, she greeted her lover.

"How goes it, my brave knight?" She would ask.

"Not well," The False and Pretender King would reply. "We may have to fall back and try again next year. Or the year after that. Your father simply refuses to die."

"The stubborn old goat!" Then she would get up, and rest herself against him, toying with his black horned helm. "To still refuse you, after all your efforts to please him. He doesn't understand… doesn't appreciate… either of us…"

And then, as always, she would remove the False and Pretender King's helm, revealing blue quills, green eyes, and the face of Sonic the Hedgehog. Oh yes. So many times this had happened. So many times. But it usually ended there.

Then, something different happened, and King Max felt himself fall to the ground. He landed on his feet, and realized that he was in Marius's body again, wearing the Royal Armor, and wielding the mighty Sword of Acorns and bold red cross shield. The Pretender and his lover looked at him with shock.

"Father!" Sally gasped.

"Marius!" Sonic yelled, and drew out his own sword. The gleaming silver edge of the weapon shone in the reflected candlelight. The Princess and her knight in black armor parted, as Sonic put himself between them.

"You left so suddenly, Fallen Knight…" King Max said, and smiled at the opportunity given him. Marius II had never had the chance to avenge himself against the real Pretender. After the Siege had fallen apart, the two traitors had left to regroup their forces. The True King had later defeated the Pretender in the Battle of Branae, where the Black Knight drowned trying to rally his forces as they fled into the river. After the battle, Jezebel had committed suicide by taking a poisonous snake to bed with her, where it supposedly bit her on her treacherous left breast.

"This is our chance!" Sally urged her knight on. "Kill him! Take his crown, his sword, and his ring… and you will be King!"

The Pretender glanced back at her, nodded, and faced his former sovereign. They didn't waste further time, as the two charged to meet each other. Their blades met once, but the power of the Sword of Acorns was great, and the Pretender had to take a step back, his blade shaking like a leaf. He held up his shield, the same design as Max's own, but with the colors inverted. The Sword of Kings hit the shield with terrible force, but it held.

The Pretender pulled back his blade for a lunge – far more dangerous in armored combat than a swing. King Max, however, knew all about how to fight with a sword as well as defend against one. This was just the sort of fight he had been trained for, not because it was practical knowledge, but because it was expected of him. The Pretender was aiming for the King's vulnerable armpit, but he was a moment too slow.

Tucking his shield in close and angling it, King Max deflected the strike. With practiced ease, and righteous fury, he quickly struck with his sword's pommel. Normally, the move would have been to stun his opponent. But the Pretender had taken off his helm. The sword's heavy counterweight caved in the front of Sonic's skull. Blood erupted from the hedgehog's ears, and he fell forward in a limp heap, spitting up crimson.

King Max laughed, and took a step away from the expanding pool of gore.

"That was too easy… did you really think this fool the next King?" he asked Sally, who was backing up in horror. "Now Jezebel… We come at last to you, who corrupted the Order of Knights, who turned him against me… who plotted and schemed and betrayed for her own petty purposes and indulgences…"

"Wait! Daddy!" Sally pleaded. "I know I've wronged you…"

"You have wronged our Kingdom!"

"Please… forgive me?" She cupped her hands, and went down on her knees, looking up at him for mercy. "Forgive me?"

King Max's sword arm wavered. "Sally…"

And in that instant, she moved. A rustle of soft silks, a moment's glittering of steel, and it was too late. Maximilian felt the knife slip in between the plates of his armor, piercing the chainmail, and entering his flesh. Deeper now, past his ribs, and he coughed up blood, the strength in his body ebbing and abandoning him.

"Die… Daddy…" Sally whispered into his ear, her voice soft and sweet. "Die for me…"

He tried to say something, anything, but his throat wasn't working.

King Max fell on his back, staring up at his murderess.

Sally covered her mouth with the back of her hand, and laughed demurely. "Oh, Daddy! You always were such a sentimental old fool! But you went and killed my favorite little pet, like you did all the others, and that's something I don't think I can forgive."

She bent down with her knees, and picked something up from the floor.

The Sword of Acorns.

"Mommy always said I was nothing but a whore…" Sally/Jezebel held out the sword, wielding it with surprising strength. "But this whore destroyed a Kingdom. How's that for a legacy?"

She rested the tip of the sword on her father's throat, just breaking the flesh.

"Good night, Daddy. Sweet Dreams."

And ran him through.

King Max awoke with a scream. He reached next to him, for his wife, but she was gone on a good-will trip to Andopolis. The clock on his nightstand read 5:30 AM. The King ran his hands through his hair. His breath ragged, it had to concentrate to calm his nerves and remind himself that it was all a dream. Just a dream.

"Just a dream…" he told himself.

"Or was it a prophecy?" a feminine voice said from the darkness.

"Whose there!" Max quickly narrowed his eyes, and looked around. Reaching for the nearby lamp, he fumbled for a moment before turning it on. The room became bathed in light, and despite a few long shadows, Max couldn't see anywhere an intruder might hide.

"Show yourself! I know someone's there!" Max opened a drawer in the nightstand, where he kept an echidna plasma pistol, in case of emergencies.

Something in the shadows finally replied. "You can not see me with your eyes… Great King. Last King."

"'Last King?' What do you mean?" Max snarled. "Answer me! Answer me now!"

But nothing did.

There was a knock on the door, from one of the Royal Guard. "My Lord? Is there trouble?"

King Max worked his jaw in frustration.

"No trouble," he said, loud enough to be heard outside the room. "Return to your post."

"As you wish, my Lord…"

Again, Max was left with silence. Slowly, fearfully, he closed his eyes, only to be met with a Cheshire grin and two glowing yellow orbs. He gasped, and his eyes snapped open again. Several minutes passed, where the King didn't dare do anything more than blink. Then, propelled by stubbornness, he tried again, and closed his eyes.

The grin was still there, along with the glowing orbs… orbs that could only be eyes. He kept his eyes closed, and he saw more and more. He saw a face, familiar but different, and a long scaled body. The grin spread back, revealing rows of dagger teeth. A Dragon! They were real, of course, but rarely did a dragon of power interfere in mobian affairs.

"It is good to meet, at last, Great King. Last King," the dragon said without the 'hiss' that he had heard they had to their inflection.

"Who are you, Dragon?" Max asked, feeling a little bolder. Mature Dragons were legendary creatures of great wisdom and insight, with a longevity measured in centuries. The stories told that the great kings of Mobius had on occasion met with dragons who deemed them worthy. Marius had met with them, as had Melchoir in near recent times. It was said that it was a dragon who told Alexander to baptize Xerxes in the Source Pool.

"I was once Dulcy… a dragon who fought with your Freedom Fighters…" The dragon's long body was like a wave as it moved on all fours, a strong and slender tail snaking through the air. "Recently, I have been given powers and vision by our fair and majestic god. You see: I bear His Mark."

She gestured to the massive diamond imbedded in her throat. "He has given me a new name: Saffire." She pronounced it 'Zaf Er Aie.'

"Dulcy… I know that name… but you were a child…"

"As was your preferred heir, before he left."

"You know?" Max asked, surprised. How could she know what he had planned for Miles? Especially since those plans had been so swiftly derailed.

"You will find that many secrets, deep and dark, have been revealed to me. Great King. Last King."

"Why do you keep saying that?" Max asked. "Why do you call me the Last King?"

"Because it is your destiny. There will never again be a King Acorn after your passing. You are the Last."

"You must be joking…" Max scoffed. "How can this…"

"Dynasty that had ruled for eight hundred years come to an end?" Dulcy finished his sentence for him, her Cheshire grin returning. "I didn't say that it was at an end, Great King, Last King. Only that there would be no others after your passing."

King Max mulled over that, and what it possibly meant.

"You have no true heirs, do you?" Dulcy asked, seemingly off hand. "Oh, Miles may have been nearly perfect. With his power and his mind, he could have ruled this world… but he is beyond you now. Beyond any offer you could give him. Sonic has no desire to rule, and no skill at administration. At worst, he would abandon his responsibilities at the first opportunity. At best, he would be nothing more than your daughter's puppet."

Dulcy began to prowl around him in a wide circle.

"Yes. Let us examine your children, shall we? Your son is weak… weak in spirit, in body and in mind. It is not entirely his fault. He was raised by those echidna… and they certainly had no desire to see a great King rise from the ruins on the mainland, did they? Even if he had the abilities, he lacks the essential desire to rule. His girl child is a bastard from a man who rejected his blood. You won't find an heir there, it seems."

She chuckled softly.

"There are no other male options, even if your daughter wasn't in love with that hedgehog. Antoine is too loyal to Sally, and he's spineless to boot. He could be King, but a mediocre one at best. Who else even comes close? That bloodhound, Geoffrey St. John? He would alienate the whole of the Kingdom. He lacks the restraint… the demeanor… the bearing of a true King. One choice is no choice, isn't it?"

"Sally…" Dulcy said it with hiss, the first slip of dragon tongue she had yet to make. "You know what's wrong with her, gender aside. She will destroy the Kingdom. She had the intelligence, the bearing, and demeanor, the dedication to rule… she even ahs the will. All she lacks is the stomach for the job. And that is something that cannot be caught. She will compromise the Kingdom into irrelevance!"

"You're right…" King Max finally conceded. "You're right. I've known it for years. My daughter must not take the throne. But who? I am not long for this world. Who will…?"

"Think, Great King. Last King." Dulcy lowered her head, and that toothy smile returned. "You have options open to you that your ancestors did not."

This puzzled him at first, but then it gradually began to dawn on him and make sense. Perfect sense! Awake in his bed, King Maximilian the First lay on his back and stared up at the ceiling. It was his destiny. He would become the Great King: the Last King.

He coughed a few times, and then began to laugh.


	21. Master of Puppets III

Drago had never felt like this before.

He moved through the worshippers like an emotional tornado, his presence shaking the moods of thousands like a leaf, and leaving those within his reach forever changed. He clasped hands with a hard looking former soldier, that profession obvious by his stance and his physique, but the other mobian had tears in his eyes.

"Bless you, Father! Bless you!"

Drago nodded, brightly smiling, and moved on. When, after he had finally been accepted as a Miracle Worker and Mogul's plan had finally taken shape, Drago had found himself swarmed by the eager and faithful, all signing his praises, he had been initially rather timid. While he had a talent for speaking (or 'talking his way out of trouble,' as Hershey had said more than once), he was not really accustomed to crowds. He had grown up as the member of a small pack and extended family, and spent many months at a time alone, or in the company of just one other.

Gradually, he had become more comfortable as the center of attention of what was little more than a mob. It helped that they were all willing to die for him, rather than just want him to die. Being chased out of town was never fun, first time or fifth time. Still, it was part of what he had to do, and he had no intention of reneging on a bargain that had been so profitable, much less one brokered with someone as dangerous as Mammoth Mogul.

"Father Saul! Praise you!"

At first, Drago had been secretly skeptical about the whole affair.

"Bless me with your touch, Father!"

Mogul had promised him power "beyond the physical." Serving several consecutive lifetimes in a maximum-security prison, without the possibility or parole, what did he have to lose? Drago knew of Mammoth Mogul, of course, and how he had nearly taken over the world by absorbing all the Angel Island Emeralds, though he had not been present for those events firsthand. Drago had, during his imprisonment, gotten to know Mogul's former henchmen, the so-called 'Fearsome Four,' pretty well, and they had spoken often enough about their old employer. It had been a surprise when Mogul showed up, not to aid his ex-companions, but a lowly rogue and traitor like himself.

Mogul had offered him freedom and power, and those (along with whiskers on kittens and girls in white dresses with blue satin sashes) just happened to be a few of his favorite things. Of course, he had been a little disturbed when Mogul handed him a Chaos Emerald and told him what to do with it, but the longer Drago held the gemstone in his hands, the more sense it made.

Was it not the right of all creatures to strive for happiness, always?

His own plans had gone awry, and left an already improvised but ambitious soul with nothing. Wasn't it true that all happiness came, inevitably, from another's sorrow, just as all life came from death? For one to be free and strong, it had to be at the expense of someone somewhere! Didn't he have not just the right, but also the responsibility, to fight with all he had in him for his future, and for his happiness, even if it was like swimming against the current?

Of course.

Additionally, it had given him the opportunity to settle numerous old scores. Mogul had been clear that he indulge himself as much as he liked before getting to work, as long as it was mostly 'under the radar.' That rat bastard of a guard, Lewis, had been the first. Drago had watched him and two other guards as they nearly pummeled another prisoner to death for giving a guard the 'evil eye.' Ol' Rocky had died in the prison infirmary just a week later, they said. Drago had taken some selfish satisfaction in pulling Lewis through the bars, breaking every bone in his body in the process.

Then there had been the others: others who had wronged him, and who needed a nice long sendoff to Hell. He had also thought about going after Sonic or Princess Sally, but decided that (for all the trouble they had caused him) they had never been out to screw him, not really. Plus, he didn't want to cause a lot of trouble so early into his escape. As much as he was willing to kill, he didn't particularly enjoy it most of the time. Sometimes, he even felt bad about it afterwards, when he'd see the guy's family, or hear about how he had made some kid an orphan.

Before he had met Hershey, he probably wouldn't have cared, but after she had told him what it was like to lose her mother and her family… he shook his head. He was done with that, now, and on to bigger and better things. Mogul had told him that he could use his powers to win the adulation of the more religious mobian factions in the southlands. When he finally gotten around to trying that out, he hadn't expected anyone to see past his rap sheet.

Amazingly, it turned out that few mobians here really cared that he was a 'traitor' to the Crown. His more sordid crimes, like smuggling, debauchery, counterfeiting, drifting, maintaining a 'bawdy house' and even murder were forgiven. The Monks he had fallen in with thought that the Source had not only forgiven him, but Redeemed him as well. They gave him a new name for those early days, a name he had kept after his official 'conversion.' He became Saul, the one who was Redeemed, and who now Redeemed others.

Mogul had been right.

Drago felt foolish for doubting the ancient tyrant. The Emerald not only gave him powers to impress the locals, but he found that it gave him power over their emotions as well. He called it his "Power Voice." Even if a sermon came out lackluster, he could empower a mob by that alone. It had taken a while, but he finally achieved the power that he had wanted. It wasn't absolute, but who wanted that anyway?

Absolute power just encouraged others to fits of envy. Drago wanted just enough power to live comfortably, but not enough to become a huge target. Already, he was a little annoyed that his prestige was getting out of hand, but he felt safe with the red ruby embedded in his chest. An assassin had already tried to kill him, and had no more success with a poisoned knife in ending his life than the cliffs outside the Devil's Gulag. It had been another "Miracle," and another parable in the living legend of Father Saul.

He had never had power like this before, but he had never expected to be loved either. Not by so many, in so abstract a fashion. This was the feeling Drago had never experienced before. Not power, because he had already had a vague idea what that was like, but to be the center of a movement, and an object of adoration. This was new, and deep down he didn't quite know how to feel about it.

Because he wasn't Father Saul.

He was Drago Blackdance.

Everything he did was a lie. He wasn't healing others with the 'Revealed Mysteries of the Source" … he was using the Chaos Powers Mogul had give him. He couldn't read the runes because the Source had enlightened him, he could read them because he had coaxed the information out of the senior monks, and realized that no one knew what the higher echelon ones meant. No one thought to contradict him, because of his powers of speech and showmanship. He was actually healing mobians, this was true, but even as he did so he felt the evil thoughts rise up from within.

No: this was something different giving him his abilities. Originally, when he had used his power to crush the life out of someone he hated, he had assumed that the foul thoughts were his own. It wouldn't have been the first time he had them. But to want someone to spontaneously combust while you try to fix their broken back or arm… it wasn't normal. Mogul hadn't mentioned that, much to Drago's annoyance. He still hoped to get used to it, after a while.

He passed through the throng, nearing the back and feeling weary.

Hopefully, soon, King Max and the rest would be whipped out, and Drago could settle down to running a nice little theocracy. Then he wouldn't have to use his powers anymore, except maybe once a year, and he could relax for the rest of his days eating grapes and flank steaks. Maybe he'd even give a Source-inspired "a-ok" to polygamy as well. The southlands were full of attractive young things, and with his power there wouldn't be any rusty old Wolf Pack Shamans around to chide him for his 'feline perversion.'

Still… he wondered if they would be thinking of him as Saul or Drago?

"Father Saul! Bless me! Give me safe childbirth, please!"

Drago sighed out his nose, making hardly a sound, and placed his large white palm on the female's slightly rounded stomach. She was a feline, all black on both belly and body, nearly at full term. Mobian children were small, and rarely caused complications, but medical care was scarce here in the south. Unlike with the obviously injured, there was nothing he could do for her except pretend. If there was a problem when her time came, and if there was no doctor to perform surgery, she would probably die.

She held his hand there for a moment longer than he was comfortable, and pulled away gently. The light in her eyes and the adoration on her face made him actually hope that nothing went wrong. If they did, would her last thoughts be about him, and why he couldn't save her? He didn't like that thought. He didn't like feeling responsible, and he didn't like the idea of others depending on him. He just wanted to be happy and live a life without worry or obligation.

"Would you bless me as well, Father Blackdance?"

He recognized the voice instantly, his back straightening stiffly. His eyes searched for the source of the voice, and found her as she moved through the other mobians towards him. She was close. Close enough to have taken a shot at him, and she was closing the distance. She wasn't wearing the uniform of His Majesty's Secret Service, which made sense give the circumstances. He wondered for an instant if she meant to stab him, but then she wouldn't have alerted him to her presence.

Maybe she just wanted to hit him.

Or bash his head with a rock. He smiled at that, and let her approach. One of his brown-cloaked monks nearby moved to intercept the female feline, but Drago held out his hand. If Hershey assaulted him here, she would be dragged off and torn apart by the mob. She had to know that. Why was she even here? He motioned for the crowd to part and let her through, and they did, mumbling about this newcomer in their midst.

She looked well, but looked more reserved than he was used to, wearing a black _babushkah _but no other clothes, reflecting the traditional lack of dress of mobian peasant females. He knew it was the favored female fashion to wear something around the chest and neck but that was frowned upon by the Church when on holy ground. Which was a pity. She still looked beautiful to him, but much less exotic.

"Well?" She asked, as she approached him. "Will you not bless me, Father?"

He blinked in momentary confusion. "What ails you?"

"A broken heart," Hershey replied, her voice heated with resentment. "Do you think you can heal that, Father?"

He bit back a growl, and leaned in closer to whisper into her ear. "Why are you here? To kill me? To bring me to justice?"

"And if I was?" She whispered back.

"Don't you know?" He smiled a little. "I cannot be killed."

"Drago… you fool…" She licked her lips, and he heard a tremor to her voice. "You're already dying…"

His eyes widened. "What?"

"Drago. Have you really changed? Tell me you have."

"I… I have…" He lied. Or did he? He wasn't sure anymore. Not really. Even if it was a lie, he wanted her to believe it. He wanted someone who knew Drago, not Saul. He wanted someone who had loved Drago, despite his flaws, not Saul in spite of them.

"I want to believe you," she said, and he knew she meant it. Hershey was usually a poor liar, though she had tricked him that one time... "I'm not here to kill you, Drago. I just want to talk… for now."

He noticed the crowd watching them, and frowned a bit. He didn't want anyone to overhear any of that. He leaned back and faced one of the monks.

"Brother Joshua, this one will come with us."

"As you wish, Father Saul," the monk said and stepped back, letting Hershey enter their procession. Drago went back to shaking hands and offering alms and prayers, but behind him he felt Hershey's critical gaze. The Emerald within his chest stirred, like a phantom pain, telling him that she knew, that she would betray him, that she was fooling him. That he should kill her.

'If she means me… us… harm, then she will die,' he promised the gemstone, after the bombardment of thoughts and demands grew too intense. The Emerald wormed back into the depths of his soul, feeding contently off his base emotions. It finally nestled within his carnal fantasies, replaying all the times he had been rough with her, or mistreated her. All the times he had imagined that he was his father and she was his mother. It did this sometimes, when he hadn't done anything it 'liked' for a while.

It wanted to relive those moments, those times, and those feelings.

Drago silently wished he had turned Hershey away.

* * *

Hunter had seen many places over a lifetime of work and pleasure. 

But never anything like this.

They were down in the deepest belly of Haven, past Reactor Access and Life Support, even. After slowly climbing down the first elevator shaft, a situation Knuckles has enjoyed an easy time with, the two of them had entered the working bowels of the complex. The air here was just as stale as it had been a hundred feet up, and the main corridor having collapsed forced them down a winding jungle of tubes and ductwork. Fortunately, they had not encountered any of the demonic little creatures that had plagued them before.

Very fortunately.

The tight and twisting confines of that place would have been perfect for an ambush, but the monsters had kept to themselves. They had been there, of that Hunter was certain, but hadn't attacked. Instead, they had continued crawling and worming and infesting the place. Finally, they had found the service elevator down. Haven's reactor was still operational, despite all the failing lighting and faulty systems, and the elevator had chimed cheerfully when they called for it.

But when it came to them, the inside was splattered with dry blood.

Hunter, veteran killer that he was, had felt a chill at the sight. It was everywhere, a lifetime's worth of crimson: on the floor, on the ceiling, in specks and trailing handprints on the walls. He had expressed his discomfort with what they were likely getting into to his companion, but Knuckles didn't seem to be in the mood to listen.

Hunter sighed.

Either the echidna was getting overly emotional, or he was shutting himself off from the world, or he was acting completely erratic. It did not fit the psychological profile Hunter had studied, back when he was first planning to make sport of the Guardian of Angel Island. The problem was that Hunter had no idea what was the cause of it, except for possibly the extended and unpleasant confinement. It was possible that Knuckles was just going stir crazy, after living his entire life in relative freedom, but the human doubted it.

There was something else.

Something he couldn't understand.

It didn't take long for him to guess what that was. Certain chemicals and illnesses aside, Mobians and Humans tended to suffer under similar environmental circumstances. Yet, there was one phenomenon that mobians were famously sensitive to at times, and humans just as famously deaf to: Chaos Energy. He hadn't even thought of it, really. It was normally far from the mind, but all this… strangeness… and Knuckles bizarre behavior…

Did it have something to do with Chaos Energy?

'Nothing can ever just go smoothly, eh?' he wondered silently, and watched Knuckles as they descended in the tainted elevator. The echidna had turned and put his palm up against one of the red smears, matching the handprint there. Hunter triple checked what little weapons he had managed to arm himself with.

Would he have to kill the echidna?

Would he be able to?

Hunter tended to think 'yes' on both accounts. Knuckles was growing more and more deranged, and he doubted that getting closet to the source would do much to help the young mobian's mental health. If Knuckles snapped, or tried to power up using the Master Emerald, Hunter would have no choice but to remove him from the equation. The thought filled him with remorse.

Killing Knuckles, the Guardian of Angel Island, would be a crowning achievement! One he would have liked recorded for posterity, and one undertaken over more enjoyable circumstances. As he was, the echidna was even more sloppy and wild than before, probably due to his straining sanity. Killing him now would be as simple and unsatisfying as avoiding the first blow and pushing a blade between his ribs or across his throat. Hunter sighed again.

"Would you stop that?" Knuckles growled, crossly.

"Oh. My apologies," Hunter replied, cordially.

The elevator descended, disappearing into the darkness.

* * *

Lara wasn't sure how she knew something was wrong. 

She just did.

Their pace had quickened considerably, as the three travelers followed Miles' nose. They were close. Very close. But they had to proceed carefully, or run afoul of a trap or hologram. But it wasn't that, she somehow sensed, which troubled her new ally and benefactor. He seemed almost apprehensive, as if he knew the way to his goal, but wished to take a different route.

"Miles?" she asked, taking a couple quick strides to get closer to him as he walked.

He looked back at her. "Yes, Lara?"

His eyes were unreadable, but she could feel his worry. Over what, she could not begin to imagine. "Something's wrong, isn't there?"

Instead of anxiety, he offered her a confident smile. "There is a little problem. But I'll take care of it."

"Are you sure?" She pressed, hoping he'd tell her more.

"It isn't something you should worry yourself over." He focused forward again, with fierce determination. "Trust me."

"I do…" she said, and fell back a few steps. She did trust him. She trusted the older version of him that had sent her into the past, and she trusted this younger incarnation that had saved her. She trusted him with her life. It didn't seem to matter that she had only known him a short time. There was a bond between them. Different from friendship or camaraderie, it was deeper somehow.

Like a Soultouch.

Maybe. She wasn't sure.

Lara-Su reached up to her collar, and ran her fingers down the ruby red gem he had left inside her. She didn't even really feel its presence there as one might expect. It felt natural, like a part of her, and when she thought about it, she felt warm and appreciated and even a little lightheaded. It was like a great gift he had given her, a piece of his soul forever entrusted into her care.

"You're a pawn, you know."

That was Nail.

She knew only what Miles had told her about him. He was an echidna, genetically engineered. A clone of her father, Knuckles. He, too, had chaos powers derived from an Emerald in his body, though Miles had told her that it was not one of his. Nail had helped train Miles in the powers of the mind. The kitsune seemed to have a good amount of respect for the lessons learned, but not so much one who had taught them. Nail had wasted his talents, according to his former student.

"A pawn?" she asked him. Miles was ahead of them, not totally outside hearing range, but he gave no indication of caring about what they were talking about. Lara ended up alongside Nail as they walked. He did look like Knuckles, save for the cloak and the headscarf.

"That Chaos Emerald in your chest is a leash… a chain. You're his pet. His pawn," Nail said bitterly. "That's all we are to those with that kind of power. I don't think all the training in the world could have changed that about him. Or them."

"How can you say that?" Lara defended the kitsune. "He has given me a part of himself. What greater sign of trust can there be?"

"It isn't about trust. Don't you understand, Lara? From when you met him, to right now, and into the future… the only things on his mind are the ends. I can't say I disagree with that end, or those aims… to fight an evil that would corrupt the world requires steadfast opposition. But to cloak one's actions towards that end, to use others and call it justice… to call it anything except exploitation…"

"Would you rather be powerless?" She snapped, a little angry with him. "Would you rather be nothing, or a pawn? All power has a source, and a price!"

He looked at her, surprised. He had not given her enough credit, it seemed, and he took a moment to re-evaluate her. She was young, but older than Miles had been when he had decided that he knew better than everyone around him. When he had left behind the name of Tails. Lara-Su, like Miles, had a maturity and understanding that came from experience, not learning.

"You're right, of course…" he conceded. "You probably have the kindest Master of us all."

"If he is to be my Master… then I will accept that with an open heart. I can feel through this chain, through this leash… that he has caring within him, and that he is a force for good. Even if hard things must be done, he will be a force for good." Lara held her hand over the little red jewel. "What better purpose can one life have?"

"It looks to me like you've become pretty smitten with him," Nail said, and shook his head in disapproval. Lara was just like Rouge in that respect. The batgirl had fallen for his power and his blood, and Lara seemed to be likewise, though under different situations. Even Amanda had not been immune. In different ways, all three females had become attached to him for what he could be, rather than what he actually was.

"That would be the Emerald you feel for, not him," he admonished. "You may have a connection to his heart, but I've seen his mind. Even if only for an instant."

"You didn't like what you saw?" Lara asked.

"I do think the arrogance and cruelty was transitory… but the willingness to dominate, to dictate… the thought that his power and his knowledge place him above morality or condemnation - I don't think that has changed. When he realized his potential and his place in the world, we became cogs in his great machine." Nail sighed. "I do not believe that this world will ever know freedom. Not for another Age. Perhaps not ever."

"I think I know what you mean…" Lara admitted. "Like you have a choice, but not really. Your choice is already made, all you have to do is agree with it. Sometimes I think I had no choice but to end up here, even though it was what I wanted. Even though I took every step in the journey."

"A pawn can only move forward," Nail said, bleakly.

"Unless it becomes a Queen." She smiled, cheerfully. "Or in your case a Rook."

"Not a Knight?"

"The Knight is actually a weak piece. All show and little substance." Lara paused. "Look. Something up ahead."

Nail had already seen it. Miles was in front of them, and he had stopped walking. There was a large outcropping ahead of them, the side of a large hill of rock. Then they passed through some sort of holographic barrier, and they saw it for what it really was. The side of rock held a cavernous opening that dipped down into a hanger.

But between them and that, stood a lone figure.

"No…" Nail hissed between clenched teeth. "Not him…"

"It is about time you made it, Miles "Tails" Prower…" The large frame of Mammoth Mogul, replete in tailored brown suit and jacket approached them, his cane occasionally tapping on the ground. "And I see you've brought some friends. Let's see: the clone, and the girl from the future. Yes. It was wise not to come here alone."

"I suppose this meeting was only a matter of time." Miles crossed his arms over his chest. "You look better than I've ever seen you, Mogul."

"I paid a high price for it." Mogul cocked his head to the side, and examined the kitsune before him. "You've grown so much since we last crossed paths. You used to be such a little kit, and now you stand before me, eye level. Truly amazing."

The fox and the mammoth exchanged looks for a few long seconds.

"Your friends may continue into this fallen Haven, but I'm afraid you may not, Tails." Mogul held his cane before him in a relaxed posture. "Or Miles. Which do you prefer?"

"Miles is my preference. The boy you knew as Tails was only a dream." Miles inclined his head to Lara and Nail, who stood only a few feet to his right. "Go on. Find Knuckles, and do what must be done."

Lara seemed torn. "But…"

"No buts, Lara. Please do as I say, and find what you came looking for here in the past." He was smiling, reassuringly. "Listen to Nail. Despite his many, many faults… he has at least some vague notion of what to do when a situation becomes dire."

"Hmf!" Nail grumbled, loudly. "Nice to see your opinion of me is so high."

Lara still hesitated. "Are you sure…?"

"Quite sure." He faced Mogul again, who seemed composed and even a little bored by the whole exchange. "Neither of you are destined to face this one. This is a matter for the two of us to decide. I'll be fine, I promise."

"Is this the only reason we're here, Miles?" Nail asked, and started to walk towards Haven's Gate, his eyes on the looming threat of Mammoth Mogul for any hint of aggression. Lara quickly caught up to him, but her eyes were on the stern young kitsune that protected them.

Miles didn't reply immediately to Nail's question.

"Yes. It is," he finally said. "However, I trust in your skills enough that wishing you luck is merely a formality. Go now. Before you test Mogul's patience."

Across from him, Mogul snorted loudly in unspoken agreement. The two echidna broke into a jog for Haven, the eyes of Mogul and Miles following them. The fox heard them yell something back at him, wishing him luck as well, and then they were gone. He tried to put the danger they would be in out of his mind, and focus on the task at hand.

"I wouldn't become too attached to them, if I were you," Mogul spoke again, now that they were alone. "I wouldn't become too attached to any of them. Their existence is transitory. Sooner or later, they will die… or wish to die… and then where will that leave you?"

"It will leave me alone, with shadows and regrets," Miles answered, and his voice was not without emotion. "But it will not turn me into a creature incapable of caring, for fear of loss."

Mogul didn't seem convinced. "You say that now, when you are young. I wonder: would your tone waver if you saw your children and grandchildren die of old age? Would your tone waver when your wife and lovers leave you and return to the dirt from whence they came? When all you knew is dust and fading memory?"

"Don't you think I've asked myself that? Don't you think I've wondered if the years will turn me into you, or Merlin, or even your former apprentice?" Miles felt a burden fall from his shoulders, discussing this with someone who could understand it.

Mogul's eyes narrowed. "Do not place me in the same durance as you, Merlin, or The Devourer. I cling to life because I _choose_ to! Because I still have much to offer this world! Not because I cannot die. Not because I have no alternative!"

"Is that what you think of me?" Miles asked, genuinely insulted.

"You have a cause now. You have that which you believe in. I can respect that, because that is what drives me, as well. But without death… without the threat of it hanging over your life, you are nothing! You are a rock, a mountain, a river; you are a force of nature. Not living, only existing!" Mogul seemed saddened by this. "Chosen One. When your dreams turn to bitter remembrances, you will become one of the Deathless… you will exist not because you _choose_ to, but because you are _doomed_ to!"

Miles shook his head.

"I have seen it. With these eyes of mine, I have seen it. Your idealism and beliefs will bleed out of you, and leave only an empty heartless shell, with no ambitions, no dreams, and no hopes. All that will be left is a husk of what once was. I pity you that, Miles," Mammoth Mogul's words seemed entirely genuine. "I pity that you will never know the life of a normal man. I pity those you have ensnared in your plans and schemes. You, who would be Master of Puppets."

"If living so long makes one wish for death, than why do you cling so tenaciously to it?" Miles asked, and lowered his arms. "Why did you let The Devourer, who you hate, place that Brand on your chest!"

"It was a moment of weakness," Mogul admitted. "You must think me a tyrant. But I do believe that the world would be better off in my grasp. I do believe that I can bring this world peace and order and security. I have to believe that! Or what other reason do I have for all I've done!"

"I did think you a tyrant. When I was younger, and you threatened destruction to those who opposed you. When I was younger, and you announced the dissolution of all my friends had fought for. What did I care for the Kingdom of Acorn? But living under your rule, no matter that it would have ended the war with Robotnick, no matter that it may have saved lives, no matter that it may have been what was best… would have hurt my friends. It would have destroyed their spirits!"

"And now?" Mogul asked.

"Now… Now I cannot let you run free. Even if you were not in the thrall of The Devourer, you would still prove a potential obstacle to my own designs. I never hated you, Mogul, but I will not let you do what you want, now that we have met once more…." Miles made a fist, and then pointed an accusing finger at the mammoth mobian. "I won't let anything or anyone stand in my way! That is my One Absolute Determination!"

"Young kitsune… for all I despise and regret what I have become over the last year, for all that I hate this Emerald in me… I will not let anyone kill me! I will fight for life! I will fight with every fiber of my being! It is the only way I know how!"

Mogul unbuttoned his coat, and tossed it aside to flail in the fierce winds that had kicked up. He held out his hands, and the Emerald that made him a Slave began to glow, like a fire in his body. Bright green light flooded out, bathing Mogul's features in a menacing malachite highlight. His clothing ripped as his body grew, larger and larger, muscles erupting from beneath cloth and tearing it to shreds. He leaned back and roared, and the ground shook beneath him.

The skies darkened, as rolling thunderclouds collected overhead, like spectators. Miles watched, and tried to gauge what he was to face. Within moments, his opponent was double his previous size, and still growing. Tendrils of lights whipped out of the Emerald in Mogul's chest, weaving themselves around his shoulders and torso, forming a thick linen cuirass, reinforced around the shoulders; then bronze grieves around the legs and feet, followed by armored bracers around the forearms. Gold and silver inlays and cords tied themselves into the ancient armor to complete the image of a Bronze Age warlord. His cane, too, grew thicker and longer, a tapering point forming and expanding into a glaive, a single chaos emerald embedded in the centerline of the blade.

Mogul stood, finally, over twenty meters tall.

"Behold!" The mammoth roared. "The Spear of Rhadamanthus! His Last Work, His Loyalty made Manifest, his Body and Soul Given to Me!"

In his right hand, Mogul's glaive sported a blade longer than Miles' entire body. With a flourish, he slammed the bronze capped rear of the weapon into the ground. A sound like a hundred thunderclaps all blasting at once nearly deafened the kitsune, who was saved only by his own formidable chaos powers. Had Lara or Nail been present, he doubted either would have even survived the shock. The ground split and cratered, looking less like solid rock and more like jelly.

High above, it began to rain: heavy drops mixed with hail.

"MOGUL!" Miles roared, over the tumult of the storm. "Is this your true self?"

"When last I assumed this form…" Mammoth Mogul spoke, in a deep echoing voice that filled all the world. "It was to do battle with The Devourer Himself! This is the ultimate expression of my physical power!"

Standing in the shadow of a giant, Miles smirked. "I'm honored…"

"Well, Miles…" Mogul also smirked in appreciation of the irony. "Are you prepared?"

Miles finger's flexed eagerly. "I AM!"

Mogul lifted the multi-ton chaos empowered weapon. "Then let it begin!"

And it was from the ground, not the sky, that thunder shook the air.

* * *

"TARGET ACQUIRED!" 

"FIRE!"

Devyn, Echidna Officer Fourth Class, felt the seat beneath him rumble as the magnetic coils in the turret over his head flexed their power, accelerating a bolt of burning plasma to supersonic velocities towards the enemy. On the enhanced vision of his Command HUD, he saw the round hit the target. For a moment, it seemed to do nothing to the small shape identified within the electronic fire control brackets as EHA-017, then the conical shaped charge of the plasma round ignited post-penetration. A distant fireball engulfed the object, three thousand meters ahead.

"Hit! Target destroyed!" The gunner cheered over the intercom.

"Good shot!" Devyn said, not just for encouragement, but because it had been well executed and deserved praise. "Drem! Forward Face to three o'clock!"

"Aye!" The driver said, from his own compartment ahead and below of Devyn's. Behind the Officer Fourth Class, the engine of his armored vehicle hummed softly, hydrogen fuel cells performing at optimal levels. It was reliable, and he didn't worry about it. The most likely problem with the cells would be if an enemy round hit and caused a breach in containment while igniting the store. In which case he still wouldn't worry about it, because he'd be flash fried in a tenth of a heartbeat.

Devyn tried to keep an eye on everything around him while the tank moved across the green landscape. Here and there, he could see the detritus of battle strewn about: wrecked half-tracks and lighter vehicles, and a handful of burning Echidnapolis tanks. There were some shallow graves nearby, hastily dug in a lull between the fighting. More liberally distributed were the corpses of the enemy, bloated and fat in the afternoon sun, their macabre yellow and black bodies mottled with specks of green and red.

There would be thousand more to join them, if Devyn had his way.

"Targets sighted! Two o'clock! Begin approach!" Devyn barked, as the HUD located, identified, highlighted and categorized the opposing armor. They were cresting a ridge, a long hill (Hill 5-28) that had been overrun during the enemy advance yesterday. These had been also identified by airborne intel earlier in the day, and the information downloaded into the tank's computers. There were other shapes too, mixed in: smaller ones, some of them flying.

The turret transversed, as the tank rolled ahead, chewing two long lines in the moist dirt, contemptuously ignoring or crushing anything in its path. The body of the tank moved as well, steering to present its superior forward armor to the enemy. Doctrine stated to approach on a diagonal at all times, and though the crew had never seen combat before the Xialjyet invaded, they had been rigorously trained to fight the Combot Legion. In their minds, this was little different.

"ACQUIRED!" The gunner yelled.

"FIRE!" Devyn commanded and the weapons system roared superheated death. Behind and before them other armored vehicles made similar overtures to the enemy. Several disappeared in fireballs. One seemed to have cooked off its ammo ad fuel in a more spectacular fashion, and the upper half went straight up into the air, spinning like a ten-ton top.

"Got im!"

Devyn grinned widely, when suddenly a sound like the end of the world filled his little world, and shook him to the core. The HUD flashed blue, confirming a hit to the glacis plate – the heavy frontal armor on the body of the tank. Internal control and maintenance noted the damage, and informed him that it was not critical. No primary or secondary systems were damaged.

The tank commander sighed in open relief.

The enemy employed armor piercing, fin stabilized, discarding sabot (APFSDS) shells similar to those the dingo used to use in their older post-collapse main battle tanks. Devyn didn't think this enemy used the same Magneto Electrothermal Cannons as the dingo, but he had heard that they used some form of liquid propellant to achieve projectile velocities of around two thousand meters a second. Which was impressive, for a conventional slug thrower. It was certainly enough to punch through the magnetic and electronic countermeasures used by his tank, including the vehicle's external shield.

For their apparently inferior technical sophistication, the enemy had size and numbers on their side. A tiny light, followed by a miniaturized display, informed him that two allied tanks were out of action: a lighter _Tobor _class, that had been totally destroyed, and one of the heavier _Mathias_ class, which was heavily damaged but not destroyed. If they had the chance, the techs at base could start repairing it, but more importantly it meant that most of the crew could escape and survive… on foot.

Devyn wished them luck.

"'V' Right! Targets: twelve o'clock!" He ordered, and the driver began to slow the vehicle. They had to start moving in the other direction, and draw the enemy between the expanding line of armored vehicles. It would divide enemy attention, lessen the risk of any one vehicle being the collective target of multiple enemies, and allow for a flank on at least one side. The tank stopped for only a moment, jerking Devyn forward a bit, and then moved back.

"ACQUIRED!" Elidor, the gunner, had locked onto another of the enemy. According to Devyn's display, the target was about two kilometers out.

He gave the order. "FIRE!"

The main gun spat fire, and an instant later another enemy tank exploded.

"Another one!"

The whole targeting and firing system was fully stabilized, so the maneuvering of the vehicle backwards at an obtuse angle, turning ninety degrees, and then heaving in the other direction did not significantly harm the chances of hitting the target. Devyn's tank and several others headed right, firing.

Another Mathias class about a hundred meters behind took two consecutive hits, one to the front and another to the rear, near the engine. It was a glancing blow because of the angle, but a long fountain of fire spewed out the back at the fuel cells vented. The tank slowed, and it got off one last parting shot before the crew bailed. The tank commander was on top of the vehicle, about to jump away, when another enemy round hit, puncturing the side armor.

The tank blew apart.

"Targets: ten thirty!"

"TARGET ACQUIRED!"

"FIRE!"

"KILL!"

"FREE FIRE!"

The ECM display blared a warning, and Devyn noted the threat of incoming missiles. The enemy infantry, or what passed for them, were in range and unleashing their anti-armor weaponry. Unfortunately, while echidna electronic countermeasures could spoof most any anti-tank missile on mobius, this enemy seemed to employ an exotic system. They were highly resistant to electronic jamming, and the word through the armored forces was not to rely on traditional methods to get things done. Devyn ran through the list of probable sources of the electronic contact, be it laser or radar guided.

He found it, and not a moment too soon.

A Xialjyet soldier, on the ground about five hundred meters away, was carrying a large tube-like weapon that resembled a mobian CLAW – one of their disposable rocket launchers. The coaxial was facing in the wrong direction, and the external machinegun mount wasn't remote or auto controlled (whose dumb cost-cutting idea was that?) so Devyn loaded the target profile and sent it frantically to one of the nearby _Tobors_.

Just as he sent it off, one of the handy little light tanks opened up on the Xialjyet drone with its 20mm automatic grenade launcher. The yellow and black creature became engulfed by gray and orange explosions; blown to pieces in an instant. The coaxial laser on Devyn's tank participated, as well. While it was transversing, it fired at another heavily armed Xialjyet soldier, cutting him or her or it in half. Three more took to the air to replace it.

Devyn sighed, patted his helmet (and integrated HUD), and popped out of the cupola to man the external machine gun. The enemy armored column had thinned, but it was still a target rich environment. Gripping the weapon firmly as he stood, he visually took aim and opened fire. A cluster of Xialjyet shook as his aim found them, and they fell to the ground a mess of blasted limbs and torsos.

"Target Acquired!" He heard over the intercom built into his helmet. Devyn felt heat on his face as another tank, a _Tobor_, went up in flames.

"FIRE!" He yelled back.

The cannon in the turret below and around him roared. Now outside the contained environment of his armored shell, the plasma accelerator sounded like nothing more than the angry hiss of a great ant terrible serpent, as steam and air rushed out of the sides of the barrel. Like a dragon, fire was its weapon of choice, and only a kilometer away (nearly point blank range, now) an enemy armored platform blew to Hell.

The Xialjyet were swarming now, filling the air and scurrying over the ground, the beating of their wings like a hundred living engines overhead. They began to dive in fives and sixes; their formations being cut to pieces by echidna return fire. Inevitably, one suicide bomber would get through, and explode against a tank or lighter armored vehicle. When it did, it splattered a sticky wet substance that burned intensely, forcing the crew to hunker down in their shelters, and blinding their external sensors and making them an easy kill for follow up attackers.

Devyn could see that half a dozen tanks were already burning.

"Target Acquired!"

"FIRE!"

The turret transversed, the coaxial laser burning a handful of Xialjyet on the way.

"Target Acquired!"

"FIRE!"

A burning glob hit the cupola, just to Devyn's left. It hissed and fumed, as if angry that it had missed him. Devyn knew about those too – the chemical weapons of the enemy. He had seen pictures of echidna hit by those, as it ate their bodies away and poisoned them, killing slowly and painfully. He swiveled the machine gun, letting his training and the computer in his helmet take aim, his hand clenching hungrily over the trigger.

"Incoming Message from Battalion Headquarters!" A friendly female voice called into his earpiece. "Incoming Message from Battalion Headquarters! Incoming…"

"Damnit!" Devyn cursed, and ducked down into the tank again. He didn't feel comfortable being exposed and having his attention divided. He acknowledged the message.

"This is Battallion HQ!" Now the voice was far from friendly or female. It was the voice of Officer First Class Leewyn. "We have lost Air Support over Sector thirty nine. Withdraw all advance forces to Sector forty-eight. Repeat: withdraw all forces to Sector forty-eight!"

"Aurora curse it all…" Devyn sent a quick confirmation to HQ, and relayed the message to the rest of the Armored Company. Inwardly, Devyn was both relieved and disgusted. Less then two kilometers from Hill 5-28 and they'd been forced to fall back. From here, he could see, with his bare eyes, the smashed and blasted city of Echid Salir. He was no General, but he knew that to get the city back they had to re-occupy the high ground around it.

However, advancing under these conditions and without air support was just plain reckless. The Xialjyet were everywhere, buzzing and swarming. Why hadn't Battalion Artillery properly sanitized the area like they'd promised? Why wasn't the air support on hand? Were they being attacked to the south again? So: they fell back. _Again_.

Devyn growled under his breath.

Retreat would only be an option for so long. Echidna Romir was holding to the north, but it was only about a hundred miles between Echidna Salir and Echidnapolis itself! The enemy couldn't be allowed to hold the initiative, and be able to project his forces into the heartland of Angel Island.

Behind him, the reliable hydrogen fuel cell engine hummed, and began to move the tank backwards as a good pace. The main gun fired again, and the gunner whooped, but Devyn was still frowning. They were leaving behind damaged but serviceable machines in the retreat, too. He hoped the crews that survived were able to find cover, or jump onto a passing armored vehicle. It took longer to train a good tanker than to build a good tank.

He popped back out into the cupola.

The Xialjyet were not pursuing, content to defend their ill-gotten gains, and pick off any weak looking stragglers. The battle had been fast and furious, like all the ones Devyn had taken part in, but time always seemed to run tightly together when one was fighting for one's life. Far off, he heard the boom of heavy artillery.

Third Battalion – his own.

They were pounding the city of Echid Salir again, trying to break up enemy attempts to move troops through it. To the south near the mountains, around where second Battalion was fighting, the sky was full of tiny fires. Though he couldn't see it, Devyn knew there was fierce fighting to the north, too, amid the deep green of the Mushoom Hills and the forests there. Already that beautiful land had been decimated by Robotnick when he first came to claim the Master Emerald and now those who called Angel Island their home were doing much the same.

Devyn shook his head sadly.

This was not how Angel Island was supposed to be.

* * *

Minalkra was led through the hall to what he knew to be his inevitable death. He smiled, nonetheless. What had surprised him was not where and how he was to die, but on how swiftly they had brought him there. It was most generous of them to have flown him, at no small expense, right from the Casino Night Airport to Mobotropolis for 'trial.' He suspected that the city was now in full revolt, by the nervous expressions on the faces of his captors. 

Yes.

The King and his Agents had been most generous and amiable to do exactly as Minalkra had hoped they would. He also suspected that the other members in the little Secret Club of which he was a member would be quite happy with his tragic demise. It was difficult for firebrands to get along with one another; it was painful to have to share the stage, one had to understand.

No matter.

The guards ushered him into a special room, with white tile on the floor and walls. There were three hard looking mobias standing around a wooden chair. Minalkra's eyes motioned to the tools of their trade, lying on two tables nearby. He smiled pleasantly at them.

"I do hope one of you gentlemen is a doctor…" he said, as if they were meeting on a golf course and not in a torture room. "I would so hate to die before meeting the King."

"Answer all our questions to our satisfaction, Mr. Chapelleverte, and the doctor will not be required." The voice came from behind, and Minalkra knew it was one of St. John's seconds' in command. It was a little sad that the good Mr. St. John couldn't be present, but it was likely that the King wished to talk to him about that little massacre he's caused. It really was a tragedy.

The mobian, a skunk whose name Minalkra never learned, continued, "Are we understood?"

"Hmm. Not quite, I'm afraid," Minalkra was quite pleased with how he could measure his tone to seem reasonable instead of condescending. "Who is this 'we' you mention so much? I would like to meet 'them.'"

"We speak for His Majesty The King, of course," the skunk replied, and guided Minalkra to his seat. "We ask questions in his name, and you will answer them for He is your Sovereign and not to be denied."

The mobian rat and former _nobilitas_ nodded in apparent understanding.

Everything was exactly as it was supposed to be.


	22. Nothing Beside Remains I

To defeat an opponent.

That was what Tempest had taught him, in that short period of time when Miles had lived under his care. To defeat an opponent, to kill only when necessary – that was what Tempest had taught him, both philosophically and physically. It was that school of thought that had been passed down, from one extinct Family line of kitsune to another, for two thousand years. Tempest had told him, in the end, that there were only two in the entire world who understood and practiced the Four Pointed Way.

To defeat an opponent.

To use lethal force only when necessary.

For Tempest, it was a matter of practicality as much as honor. Kitsune honor held few qualms about killing; Miles had come to realize. Almost anything could justify murder in their eyes: they were a society of universal hypocrites, surviving in a static state, gifted and cursed by their genetic programming. Tempest had chided him for toying with his prey, that cougar… but another kitsune, most other kitsune, would hardly have batted an eye.

Merlin.

Merlin had sent Tempest.

Miles knew it, and could see the reasoning for it. From the beginning, Merlin had wanted only one lineage to know the Four Pointed Way, and to pass it on to the Chosen One when he finally emerged. Even then, with the cougar lying broken and helpless on the ground, Tempest had wanted his student to understand the philosophy that was necessary to unleash the power of the Four Pointed Way.

For Tempest, the technique have him control of his Clan. The Four Pointed Way was designed to take full advantage of ritualistic fighting, where one can observe one's opponent beforehand, or even while the fight is taking place. Most kitsune schools of combat stress destroying one's opponent quickly, even though most fights between kitsune rarely end in a death: these are anticipative or proactive. The Four Pointed way is reactive, reliant completely on an analytical mind.

The laws of motion, inertia, anatomy, physiology… combined with an understanding of the self and one's self-imposed and absolute limitations. When those factors are combined with a desire to defeat, and not to kill, it is the key to unlocking the power of the hidden school. Only then can one truly have a hope of understanding and appreciating one's opponent. Only then can he or she never hide their vulnerability.

Tempest applied this purely on an emotional and physical level.

This was why so many other kitsune would consider him intellectually soft.

Used purely in that limited way, Miles found he could dissect and analyze all those he had seen fight, or done battle with himself. He could see their _tells_ – the movements, hints, and plays of internal energy that gave away their thoughts and intentions – and he could understand why they would do what they did. He could see their weaknesses, and knew how to respond to them. It was almost as if half his mind had become machine-like in its precision. Finally, Miles understood why Tempest was confident in opposing the entire Freedom Fighter roster. While someone like Bunnie could physically overpower him, in a serious fight Tempest would only have to survive long enough to see her _tells_, and then exploit them.

When he had decided to take action, Miles had mentally already known how to destroy any potential threats in Knothole or abroad. Sonic, for example, was only capable of forward acceleration, and it was the key to his entire fighting form. Miles had only to move in a diagonal direction and attack from the side, where Sonic was helpless. Or use his own forward momentum against him. More than the physicality of it, Miles understood that Sonic was almost blindingly confident in his speed and in himself. He entered a fight with everything in the open, and everything up front; he devoted himself to one task at a time.

Soon after, no doubt as Merlin had intended, he had come to the revelation that there was an additional dimension to the fighting philosophy as well: that the same principles applied by his mentor physically could extend to the supernatural as well. Chaos Energy, of which Tempest knew next to nothing, was a force also dependent on one's mental state. From this came the creation of his most powerful attack, his Chaos Judgment: the ability to see weakness in spirit as well as flesh, in Chaos waveform as well as in Material form, and to use that weakness to consume an enemy.

Bunnie, Sally, Sonic, Knuckles and a multitude of enemies living and dead had already provided the necessary knowledge of fighting before Tempest had arrived. As Tails he had thrived in a world of endless war, with death always just around the corner, and it had already provided the strength and the endurance training. Tempest had only to show up at that critical moment, when the clay just began to harden, and then mold it into a final and perfect form.

Merlin's Sword.

Merlin's Killer.

The Damned Chosen One.

Against any foe, especially one he had encountered before, Miles was confident in his abilities and his power. Even in a fake body like the one he currently used as a shell. Years of fighting and training had hardened him, and he had at his disposal perhaps the finest mind on the planet, and the most optimal fighting style he could imagine. Yes: he was confident of what he had become.

The sky above thundered; dark clouds churning and spitting heavy rain and frozen ice. Miles landed on his feet, and clutched at his chest and the purpling bruise there. It shouldn't even have been there. He had neither flesh nor blood in his body, and yet the wound felt as real and painful as any he had endured in his former life.

Mogul was chuckling, his voice a deep bass rumble. "How does it feel: the power of Rhadamanthus and Mogul combined?"

Miles narrowed his eyes at the weapon: the Spear of Rhadamanthus. It wasn't just oversized, but Chaos enhanced in a way Miles had never encountered. It wounded him in body, soul and mind. That had to be why his fake body had reacted like it did. Nothing, not even the great Sword of Acorns, had a power like that. Mogul seemed to look through Miles' eyes and expression, and see his understanding.

"Ah, yes." The ancient conqueror nodded. "You're afraid. As you should be."

Miles slowly smiled, wider and wider. "You've got my blood pumping, Mogul."

"Then…!" Mogul took one step forward, and then another, and then another, setting a fast trot on massive ten meter long legs. The ground at his feet shattered as he charged, the weapon held across his body, forming a veritable engine of destruction. Miles started up his tails, and used them to propel him backwards, and then in a sudden burst to the left as Mogul reached striking distance.

The Spear of Rhadamanthus took the ground to heel with another deafening roar, shaking the ground beneath Miles' feet. He could literally feel the shockwave from the impact, though only a tiny fraction of the attack's power went anywhere but straight down into the ground. A direct blow from it would not just cleave him in two, but the vibrations and shock would tear him to pieces as well.

It was a fantastic weapon.

Mogul wasted literally no time in adjusting his aim, using even the moment when he had to pull back his weapon as part of an upward stroke. Miles took an instant to level his custom handgun, forged from his own fake body, and fired a burst of three shells as he maneuvered. All three were aimed along nearly the exact same vector, which Mogul intercepted with the shaft of Rhadamanthus' Spear, all three impacting yet doing no damage, their HEAT rounds apparently useless.

In nothing less than the same motion, Mogul planted the spear yet again, the shockwave splitting the ground. Miles managed to avoid by reversing direction at the last second but had to duck to avoid the head of the weapon clipping him as it burst free from the ground, cutting a long line almost without resistance. Miles zipped back and forth, using his feet to break and his hands to perform evasive as Mogul struck again and again, his footwork and motions flawless.

The Spear became a literal blur, the thunderous impacts merging into one long tumult like the breaking of some titanic dam or the collapse of a mountain. Moving faster and faster in a desperate attempt to force an opening and survive at the same time, Miles could feel his maneuvering options narrowing, as the strikes from above hemmed him in. He fired at every opportunity, at Mogul's face and even his joints: the elbows and knees. If a HEAT bullet couldn't be blocked by the spear, Mogul shifted his body just enough to avoid it.

Back flipping, Miles strained not to lose sight of his opponent. An instant later, he saw the spear come down, then back up, filling his field of view. Adjusting his grip on his gun and holding out one hand to brace it as a shield, he saw it come closer and closer, as if in slow motion. The air pressure from it cut lines into his skin, and then the impact came and he gritted his teeth. The gun between him and the blade took most of the blow, but enough transferred into his arms and body to shake him to the core. Miles' ears popped, and he momentarily lost hearing.

Then the real pressure wave hit, and he went flying, a tiny mote in a storm.

He landed hard, with a splash of semi-wet earth, cutting a long trench in the ground before he shot into and through an outcropping of rock. Finally, he hit another jagged rock and bounced off the side of it, cracking it down the middle. He rolled onto his side, spat a sticky black fluid, and forced himself back up and on his feet.

He hurt.

He hadn't expected to feel pain, real pain, again.

Not after he lost his natural body.

A distant flash of lightning highlighted Mogul as he stood, the Spear of Rhadamanthus held in his right hand and propped against his side. He was frighteningly calm and composed, a giant standing alone like a mountain in a plain. Miles quickly wiped the black ooze from his lower jaw, a split lip causing a sharp moment of pain.

Miles wouldn't say as much, but he was worried.

Mogul wasn't fighting like before. He wasn't using his own power, like in the past, and his prowess with this new weapon was mind numbing. Miles had fought larger and stronger opponents many times before, and knew they had an arrogance and sense of invincibility, either conscious or subconscious, to their attacks and defense. Mogul had none of this. Worse, the timing and precision of his strikes was like nothing Miles had ever seen.

From what he had seen, Mogul had no obvious _tells_.

Miles knew that Tempest had, over the years, trained himself to remove consecutive _tells_ from his fighting style. Still, the kitsune master had _silent_ _tells_, if not physical ones that could be reliably read. Mogul seemed to be at a whole other level: he seemed to have no _tells _at all, silent or otherwise. His eyes were glowing orbs, and his massive body betrayed no movement beforehand: not the twitch or tensing of a muscle, not even the invisible flow of energy and heat to the muscles and nerves. It made him seem two, or even three, times faster than he actually was.

"Still alive, Miles?" Mogul asked, as he slowly approached, great footfalls leaving craters in his wake.

"Ergh…" Miles stood, and straightened his back. It cracked and popped in protest. "I'll live. Thanks."

"I _am_ impressed. You have remarkable control of your internal energy balance, focusing it into your little popgun to blunt the blow from this Spear of the Heavens. However, control of this is not enough to defeat me." Mogul's pace increased slightly. "With this Spear given me, I am a master. You can not make a move without me sensing the change in your equilibrium and reacting accordingly."

Miles gritted his teeth. It sounded almost as if…

"Who gave you that Spear?" The young kitsune demanded. "Who was it, Mogul?"

"Oho? You'd really like to know?" Mogul smirked, his great arcing tusks framing the amusement on his face. "It was a long time ago. These days, he goes by the name of… Merlin."

"No! He wouldn't…!" Miles shook his head in denial. "I don't believe…"

"Believe it or not. I will admit that I never thought I'd have to dig it up and use it again. But you seem to forget, little Destroyer," Mogul replied, eyes shining in the darkness under his heavy brows. "It was only a couple millennia ago that Merlin considered me a useful puppet, and a loyal ally. I dare say I know him better than you do… If you have anything else to ask, Miles… now is the time."

Miles had no response except to brace himself for the coming storm.

"I see." His nemesis stamped his foot eagerly. "Good!"

Mogul broke into a run, charging like a demon out of hell.

* * *

**THE CYCLE OF AGES: A NEW WORLD ORDER**

**CHAPTER SEVEN:**

_**Nothing Beside Remains**_

* * *

"I met a traveler from an antique land  
Who said:—Two vast and trunkless legs of stone  
Stand in the desert. Near them on the sand,  
Half sunk, a shatter'd visage lies, whose frown  
And wrinkled lip and sneer of cold command  
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read  
Which yet survive, stamp'd on these lifeless things,  
The hand that mock'd them and the heart that fed.  
And on the pedestal these words appear:  
"My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:  
Look on my works, ye mighty, and despair!"  
Nothing beside remains: round the decay  
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare,  
The lone and level sands stretch far away." 

Percy Bysshe Shelley

* * *

Nail looked down the elevator shaft, trying to ignore the sounds from behind him: sounds that shook the walls of Haven with their force and their fury. He glanced over his shoulder, as another distant rumble made him wonder just what was going on topside. He could feel Mogul's power when he concentrated on it, glowing like a sun through layers of granite, steel and concrete, frightful and overwhelming in intensity. 

"You almost done?" he asked down into the dark pit, and saw Lara-Su wave at him, signaling that it would only be a moment longer. While he waited, he tried to predict what they would face the deeper down they went into Haven.

The Master Emerald had been corrupted, but what that would mean in practice… Nail just wasn't sure. What he did know, however, was that he couldn't sense any distinct life forms down below. While he was hardly sensitive enough to pick up small animals or the life, this was not so much a dead zone, but a blanket of darkness. He could feel that there was something down there, but what it was exactly defied his understanding or comprehension, and whether it was alone or not also eluded him.

He would just have to wait and see.

Down in the shaft, Lara started to make her way back up, jumping off the walls like springboards, in a little red blur. Nail stepped back, and a second alter she twirled out of the open doorway. It was sensible foresight on Miles' part to prepare someone in case their way was barred. The Guardians built their sanctuary to last, and with an eye for defense. Cutting through would have wasted a lot of his energy, and the heavy magnetic locks on the door would have made it nearly impossible to pry open.

Lara had simply hooked up some sort of magnetic depolarizing gizmo, and then blown the door open with plastic explosive. Nail didn't particularly like the use of such vulgar displays, as he personally put more stock in what one could achieve with one's own body and training, but he could appreciate the effectiveness of it.

"Fire in the hole!" Lara ducked off to the side, and Nail did likewise. A few seconds later, there was a dull and distant thump, followed by a groan. The echidna girl peeked down into the shaft.

"I was sure that would've gotten it loose…" No sooner had she said it, than the elevator itself gave a loud screech of metal on metal, and plummeted down into the darkness. Moments later, it hit bottom with a reverberating crash.

"Good job," Nail complimented, and stepped out over the edge. "Ready?"

Lara looked back the way they came, a worried expression on her face.

"Don't worry about the foxboy," Nail said offhand, clasping her on the shoulder. "He does his thing, and we do ours."

"Do you think… there's a chance he could lose?" Lara asked, tentatively. "And what would happen if he did? Would I lose the power he gave me?"

Nail shook his head. "I don't know. It could be that even he doesn't know the answer to that."

Lara slowly nodded, and turned back to the task at hand. "Sorry. I'm ready."

He smiled, approvingly.

Without another word, the two jumped down into the shadows.

* * *

Spectre stood between the pale green light and the pitch darkness. It served to highlight his face: the deep scowl and strong jaw, the wrinkles on his brow just beneath his helmet, and all around and under his eyes. He looked worn and used, his complexion harder and heavier, almost to the point of being leathery. A blue arc light flashed before him, momentarily sparking life in his empty blood red eyes. 

"You called for me?" he thought, his dry lips sealed closed.

The light of the Master Emerald bathed him in a sick glow.

"Yes," it spoke, not from without, from within. It came from nowhere, but to Spectre, it was everywhere. He was the eye and it was the storm.

Mute, the former Guardian let out a hiss of air from his nose.

"What would you have me do?"

"Your Grandson." The Emerald commanded, "Bring Him Before Me."

Spectre didn't nod. He didn't have to.

"Will he struggle?"

The Emerald sounded almost amused. Another blue light flashed nearby, as something moved. "He Has Tasted Chaos. It Is In Him."

"And the human?" Spectre ventured.

"Watch Him." The Emerald glowed angrily. "Bring Him." It burned even more hotly. "His Blindness Is Offensive To Me." And then it died down to normal. "He Will See My Light If I Must Pluck Out His Eyes."

Spectre blinked, slowly, turned and walked off. The sounds of hissing and the glow of laser light at his back, he walked past Sabre, who seemed to leaning against one of the massive supporting pillars of the Emerald Chamber. The other echidna, Spectre's grandson after five generations, had his head in his hands, and seemed to be weeping. The sort of hiccupping inarticulate sounds escaping his mouth were more like those of an abandoned child than a dignified Guardian. There was a nasty smear of yellow-green vomit on his chin, but Sabre hardly seemed to care, wrapped up in a personal hell tailored for one.

Spectre stopped nearby, and Sabre looked up at him with frantic eyes.

"G.g..gg… grandfather…" he mumbled, shaking violently. "I ca… I can… feel it…"

"Return to work, Grand Son." Spectre's dried and split lips moved slowly as he spoke. A trickle of blood ran down his chin.

"I don't want to!" Sabre moaned. "I'm so tired, and it keeps screaming, and I can FEEL IT!"

Spectre's red eyes watched emotionlessly as Sabre reached behind his head, into the black hood they all now wore. The hand came back bloody, and Sabre's whole body started to convulse in horror and confusion. The younger Guardian took a deep breath, and stared at his hands.

"I can feel it… it my brain…" Tears rolled down his cheeks. "I can feel it in my brain! What's in my head! What is it?"

"WORK," Spectre repeated, and Sabre's head lolled back.

"So… tired…" Sabre wailed, and then his voice faded out. His head fell forward, still a little limply, and his bloodshot eyes found his Grandfather's. Spectre stared back, like a doll. A few seconds later, Sabre shuffled off, back to work.

"He will not live much longer," Spectre thought to his Master Emerald.

For a few moments there was no reply.

Then:

"His Work Is Almost Done. Only Then Will I Let Him Die." The Emerald Voice was merciless and all consuming. "Now Bring Me Your Youngest. He Is Ready."

Spectre walked off to his task, his mind empty of all but his Master's Bidding.

* * *

Far above, the clash of titans continued unabated. 

With a bellow, Mammoth Mogul spun his massive weapon, and before him a half dozen explosions went off harmlessly. In midair, Miles tucked his custom 20mm handgun into his left arm pit, closed and opened his hands, and concentrated on forming the base inorganic material in his fake body into something more immediately useful. Two pink flesh colored rings formed, and then turned a glowing yellow. Drops of rain hissed on contact, as Miles angled himself in free fall.

His Tails spun, instantly stopping his downward acceleration.

Mogul was already moving to attack, the great blade of the Spear of Rhadamanthus making a visible crescent through the air as its displacement destroyed the rain in its path, turning it to steam. Mammoth Mogul's muscles were taunt with power as he swung the weapon in a perfect intercept course.

"Ring Shield!" Miles slammed his hands together, and the two rings fused into one, four times the size. Holding his hands out forward, the glowing ring of power hung in midair.

"Do you think that will save you!" Mogul roared, and the tip of the spear hit the so-called shield. But instead of plowing into and through it, the curved edge of the shield rode the air pressure around the end of the weapon. Even then, avoiding the brunt of the possible impact, it began to crumble and disintegrate. Miles stood on top of the Ring Shield, his BFG back in both hands as he took careful aim.

"You're MINE!" The kitsune howled, and fired on full automatic, pumping energy into the weapon as fast as he could. An assortment of rounds left the barrel of the weapon in as many seconds: a HEAT followed by a HE-IN followed by a SABOT, times three.

Mogul's eyes widened just a tiny fraction, but he didn't hesitate. Using the momentum of his weapon, he pivoted at his waist, and raised his elbow while ducking his head. The rounds impacted cleanly against the exposed area on the bottom of his right arm, around the triceps. The first round ignited and disappeared, the second exploded in flame and shrapnel, and the third similarly disappeared into the thick and corded flesh.

Only two more rounds managed to hit, before the blunt end of Mogul's spear rose to intercept the rounds, blocking them with pinpoint precision. The twenty meter tall Mogul then lowered his right knee, and expertly reversed the direction of his attack. Miles barely had time to spin his tails in the opposite direction, as the blunt end of the spear filled the space above him, the displaced air throwing him around wildly.

He didn't even have time to think about a landing.

Mogul hissed in pain, but seemed to have avoided any sort of critical injury. He stepped forward with the sound of a crashing meteorite, his weapon spinning and striking. There was hardly an opportunity to so much as get near the ground; Miles either kept flying and kept moving, or left himself vulnerable. So he double jumped to conserve energy, using his tails as a booster instead of a form of steady propulsion.

"Higher!" He snarled to himself, feeling fatigue in his body start to drag him down. "I have to fly higher!"

He jumped and jumped and boosted straight up, tails spinning, wet rain splashing against his already soaked face and fur. He looked down, and saw that Mogul was finally too far away to strike. Miles thought himself safe, at least for a moment, this far out of reach.

Instead, Mogul looked up, smirked, and jumped.

"Damn it!" Miles held up his left hand, summoned more of the self-aggregated power rings, and began to mentally program them. So long as he understood the construction of an object, it was not particularly difficult to self fabricate it, using his knowledge of Chaos Energy. And Power Rings, as little chaos batteries, were quick and relatively easy to create. It was at least once advantage of his weaker fake body that this little trick was made easier.

Below him, Mogul shot through the air surprisingly fast, and Miles held out his left palm and aimed with the gun in his right. "Ring Fury!"

Mogul laughed, his arms and spear cutting through the stormy air, blocking and intercepting the stream of explosive rings and twenty-millimeter bullets. Both of them in midair, Mogul closed the distance before Miles would have dared to dream, and Miles had to once again take evasive maneuvers. Lightning cracked behind them, as the two dueled in the sky, spitting in the eye of gravity.

"Are you enjoying yourself, Miles!" Mogul roared, his face alight with fury. "Is this everything you hoped it would be!"

Miles spun, following a gust of air current from one of Mogul's strikes. "I never thought it would be easy, Mogul! I never underestimated you!"

"Liar!" Mogul's swipe went wild, or at least appeared to. In fact, he had let it go to hold the massive Rhadamanthus Spear in only one hand, while he suddenly backhanded with the other. Miles barely got his arms up to block, before a fist the size of a car plowed into him.

A tan streak fell to the earth.

"You all underestimate me…" Mogul spoke calmly as he fell, spear in one hand the other by his side. "I have fought in a thousand wars. I have seen a half million lives extinguished before me. I have lived for over five millennia, and survived the wrath of two Destroyers. This world is Mine by right of the Sword Arm! I built it once from the ashes, and I shall do so again! Mammoth Mogul is no one's puppet!"

When he landed, it was like an underground nuclear explosion. A shockwave distorted the ground, and radiated out for hundreds of feet. Mogul stood unfazed amid the conflagration.

"Yet…" He held his free hand up to his chest, where his ancient armor concealed his great shame, and his ethereal chains. "No. No matter what I become, I am Mogul. I have the Pride of that Name. I will not bow my head and let the executioner's blade fall!"

Miles rose from a pile of ruble, a ferocious sneer showing long canines.

"You bastard…" He spat blood, his tails swishing behind him. Half his face was purpling, and an open gash on his forehead let a stream of crimson flow down the left side of his face.

"If you want to be this world's new Kingmaker, Miles… You will have to go through me!" Mogul bellowed, and resumed his assault. Miles shook off the pain, and started up his trademark tails, using them to propel him backwards, skipping and jumping over the broken ground.

The fight raged on.

* * *

Nail could see movement in the shadows around them. Shoulder to shoulder with him in the tight confines of Haven's underbelly, he knew Lara should see them too. Between the drip-drip noises of condensing steam, and the distant hum of an electrical generator, there were skittering and slipping animal sounds, like hundreds of little feet on metal. 

"A little more light?" Lara asked, and Nail nodded in agreement. His right fist, already faintly glowing enough to light their way, became brighter as he directed more chaos energy into it. It became a lighter shade of green as he did so, giving off a wider spectrum of electromagnetic radiation. Lara did likewise with her left hand, flooding more of the place with light.

Several creatures were quick to scurry behind pipes, and back into the darkness. Lara caught a hint of something insect-like, huge, with a dozen or more orange legs, and then it was gone. She sucked in breath through lips tightly pressed together, but quickly composed herself. She didn't turn her back to it, instead trusting Nail to lead and watch her back at the same time.

Still, she was growing … concerned.

"We're going to be surrounded soon." Lara warned. "They're massing for an attack. I can feel it."

"You're probably right," Nail admitted. "However, we have no time to waste, and there are enough tight spaces here were we won't fit. Our only choice is to keep going towards our objective."

"I suppose." Lara trailed off. "Um, Nail, could I ask you something?"

Nail gave a steaming pipe a wide berth, as the two entered an open corridor that branched in two directions up ahead. He kept his eyes on the ceiling, where two vents were off their hinges, and one was on the floor. The once ample lighting was dead, casting the empty hall in a disturbing gloom.

"Go ahead," he prompted.

"My father… what kind of echidna is he?"

Nail sensed the insecurity in her voice. He sympathized. "We only met once, but I never knew him personally. Athair always spoke highly of him. He was respected, if not liked, by both his friends and enemies. He seemed very serious and strong willed, though short tempered. I thought him suspicious and overly defensive, before I became educated on some of what he had been through. Still, he's someone you should be proud to have as a father. Why do you ask?"

"He…" Lara started to say, but wasn't sure how to continue. "That is… we… I never really knew him. I knew of him, of course, but he was never family to me. I'm not sure what I'm going to tell him, or even try and do…"

"Why are you here, Lara?" Nail asked. "Why exactly?"

"To save my father!" Lara insisted. Nail gave her a brief look, but he said nothing. After a few seconds, Lara sighed. "I am here to save him, and maybe build a better future. Maybe I didn't give a lot of thought to how I was going to do that, but it is what I believe I can do, and have to do. I can't let things turn out as they did. And… I have nothing to lose…"

"Nothing to lose?" Nail asked, disbelieving. "What about your mother? Your family?"

"As if! My mother kept me in the dark my whole life about who I am, and what I am. I've lived my whole life hiding my true self from the world. All my life… all my life I felt alone and empty." Lara sighed softly. "I've always felt like there was something great that I was missing out on. Like there was an adventure out there for me, if only I could find that first step towards it."

"And you thought this was it?" Nail shook his head.

'No, Lara,' he wanted to say, 'Maybe at one time, you could have made your future with your own two hands, but not now. Not ever again.'

"Yeah," Lara replied. "I think this is it. I think…"

The two froze and looked up, as the ceiling shook, and the sound of a hundred segmented legs beat a rapid tempo tap dance on the metal grating. A second later, a blue and yellow head stuck out of the open vent – it was eyeless, with two long antennae, and a hideous pincer jaw drooling poison ooze. It hissed, and skittered out, followed moments later by a flood of comrades.

Lara and Nail gaped, as they crawled out of every crevasse, every hole, and from ahead and behind. Some were centipede like, only a hundred times natural size; others were in the sick guise of misshapen spiders, with odd numbers of legs, and three or five malformed jaws. Others were soft and gel like, covered in eyes and flailing pseudopods.

"Chao!" Nail yelled, and unleashed a spray of blue-green energy from his right hand into the thickest cluster of the monsters.

"Chao?" Lara pushed back her rising panic and disgust, and did likewise, an energy blast taking the head off one of the massive centipede creatures on the ceiling. The rest of the body skittered, and then fell to the ground, crushing several smaller cousins. She jumped, and stomped down, as one of the spider beasts snapped at her leg, stomping it flat with a loud crunch.

"Creatures of Chaos!" Nail dodged a snapping set of jaws, and landed an open palmed strike with his left hand. The misshapen mandibles exploded in a spray of purple gore, and the rest of the body fell twitching. His arms and feet became a blur as he moved within a tight arc, killing anything near him, and blasting those that grouped together for a concerted attack.

Despite having similar chaos related abilities, Lara used them differently. Hands to her sides, she pushed forward, telekinetically slamming a half dozen of the swarming monsters into the wall at a time. Piles of them began to build up, heaped upon the broken remains of their fallen brethren. Still, more came, like an unending tide of gibbering, salivating madness.

A glowing ball of power streaked down one curve of the hall before exploding, a wave of flame and concussive force annihilating ten score of the massing chao. Despite that victory, Nail wailed in pain as a creature, half mouth and all teeth, clamped down on his right arm. Its only beady eye stared back at him with two pupils, and Nail could feel its teeth grinding deeper into his flesh. Backhanding another lunging mouth full of razors, he reacted instinctively, and tore the creature loose.

He regretted it the instant he had done so, as a spray of blood arced through the air. Smelling it, the chao frenzy seemed to multiply, as they jumped into the air and snapped wildly at anything in reach. The monster in his grip bayed and snarled, mouthing desperately in his direction. With a heave, Nail to threw the creature into a nearby wall, where it hit with a wet splatter. Before it even hit the ground, it was torn to pieces and devoured by more of its fellows.

Lara 'eeped,' as a giant set of pincer jaws rose up out of a mass of seemingly dead chao, chomping and rending at the air just a foot from her knee. Directing one hand at it, she sent a pulse of ruby red chaos energy into her hands. As if it was the most natural thing in the world, her power flexed, and the offending head became flattened against the ground with a crunch, one of the mandibles distorting enough that it twisted and broke through the head, sticking out between two beady eyes.

She felt almost aflame with power.

Her old Guardian abilities couldn't even begin to hold a candle to the power she felt coursing through her now. As a dozen of the creatures rose up to take her, she quickly tried something new, focusing her telekinetic power not just on one target, or even a half dozen, but on a general area. The air distorted at her command, and five gaping mouths crashed against an invisible wall, while Lara pointed at the sixth, and sent it flying into a crowd of its buddies with the force of a cannon shell.

Nail blasted two larger chao to pieces, raining legs and bits of torso all around him. He had cleared a small amount of breathing room, but only momentarily. There were too many of them, approaching from every angle. Only the presence of Lara at his back gave him comfort. Taking the brief opportunity, he closed his eyes, balled his fists, and concentrated. It had to be quick – he could hear them rushing towards him, heedless of safety, consumed by a lust to bathe in his blood and tear the meat from his bones.

"Chaos Flash!" He cried, opening his eyes. The moment he did, a white-hot burst of energy filled everything in his cone of sight. Many of the smaller chao hissed and bubbled and burned, the others ignored the damage and continued forward, mad and hungry. Nail met one of them with his fist, blowing a hole in its back and sending it flying. Another took a small energy ball to the face; that face quickly ceasing to exist.

"There's too many!" Lara yelled, raising her hands, and sending a dozen of the freakish chao into the ceiling, before letting them rain down in broken pieces. Then, mixed in with the sound of little feet, there came heavier footfalls. Behind and ahead of them, something roared, long and loud.

A few seconds later, they saw it come down one of the corridors. It was far larger than any of the previous chao, but still a patchy blue and yellow color, mixed with some red. It had a hideous face: four little eyes surrounded by bone, and above a jaw lined with needle teeth. It had bear paws for hands, massive and leading up to a muscled hump at the shoulder. Hooked horns ran up its arms and across its skeletal chest. Stout legs crushed smaller chao underfoot, as it shambled towards them.

Then another appeared: it was similar, but had flailing squid tentacles, suckers lined with tiny razor sharp teeth. And then, from behind, yet another emerged. This one had a sharply curved beak for a mouth, and arms lined with drooling mouths and blinking eyes. All three seemed a wretched mixture of different animal traits, obscenely exaggerated by a diseased and perverted mind.

Behind the new hulks, yet more shadowed shapes made their slow approach, each more hideous than the last. Lara and Nails steeled themselves for the fight ahead, as the horde of chaos renewed its advance.

* * *

It seemed empty. 

Which was not to say that Hunter had dropped his guard or changed his plans. Even if this, the lowest level of Haven, seemed completely devoid of the little demons they had seen on the way down, he had plenty to worry about. If nothing else, it was a problem to be faced on the way out, once the elevators and the like were back in working order.

On the way out, he'd also have to see if he could set off the reactor, too.

It wasn't that he was ungrateful for the years of confinement that the Guardians had given him. No. After all, they could have killed him, and he would have understood perfectly. But as it was, this 'Haven' was corrupted beyond redemption. Barring a squad of marines in powered armor with pressurized napalm projectors, a big bang was simply the most efficient way to clear out this hellish stain on the planet.

And if he couldn't find a way to destroy Haven…

Well.

Fuck Angel Island.

He'd just leave, and relax on a beach somewhere. Wouldn't that be nice? Sipping a martini in the twilight, with a nice BBQ going on nearby filling the air with the smell of good honest foodstuffs, and maybe a couple of friendly women in bathing suits trying to entice him into the water to play with them.

Enjoying the fantasy as he was, he reacted without an instant's hesitation when he saw a dark shape approaching from around a corner. Hunter was halfway through the motions of throwing his makeshift hunting knife into the newcomer's forehead when he recognized him, and pulled off the attack at the last second. As it was, the whole motion was dome behind Knuckles' back, and with enough speed and conservation of movement that the echidna didn't even notice.

A black furred and hooded echidna rounded the corner ahead of them, his stern and severe face otherwise expressionless. He said nothing, at first, as the three stood in surprised and sudden silence.

"Spectre!" Knuckles cried with a happy whoop, and grasped his greatest grandsire by the shoulders, breaking the tense moment. "Thank the Walkers…!"

"Ho! Here's a surprise!" Hunter managed a smile at one of his former jailors. "So one of you fellows is still alive, eh?"

Spectre tilted his had slightly. "We are all alive."

His vacant eyes moved from Knuckles to Hunter, and back again.

"Come. Grand Son. Come." The oldest living Guardian took a step back, turned, and started walking back the way he came.

Knuckles gave Hunter a strange look, but fell in behind Spectre.

"Tell me: how is the Master Emerald? Have you been able to find a way out of here?" Knuckles shot off the answers a little frantically, but didn't care. "What happened? What were those things?"

Spectre didn't answer.

"Hey!" Knuckles seemed to get a little angry at the silent treatment as they walked. Hunter noted as Knuckles shoulder muscles tensed, one of the warning signs that he was on the very of a fit. The human sighed under his breath.

"Hey!" Knuckles said again. "I don't think you know what I've been through! I've seen Hell, and I want to know what the yiff is going on, damnit! Answer me! You owe me that much after all I've been through!"

"The Master… Emerald… will make everything clear," Spectre finally replied. "So very clear."

"You can't leave, can you?" Hunter asked, his hand on his knife. "No. It isn't that you can't. You don't want to."

"Why would I leave the Master's Light?" Spectre asked.

"I don't like this…" Hunter whispered to Knuckles.

The echidna frowned at him in reply. "I have to see what's going on. I have to see the Master."

"The Master Emerald." Hunter grumbled. "I never understood you stupid furries and your obsession with those things. And you echidna are the worst. Chaos Emeralds are more trouble than they're worth. We'd all be best off firing them into space to burn up in the sun."

Knuckles spines bristled at the implication. "You don't know… can't know…what it feels like."

Spectre's response was more cryptic. "It would never be allowed to happen. He would prevent it. You humans are blind… but you will see... you will believe…"

"What the hell does that mean?" Hunter 'hmfed' loudly. Spectre was not inclined to respond, so Hunter turned to Knuckles. The youngest Guardian either didn't know or didn't want to say. They walked in silence down a flight of wide steps. Spectre's movements seemed slow and deliberate, and Hunter felt the hairs rise on the back of his neck.

He looked nearby for some other way around this part of Haven, any one but the one Spectre was taking them down. The walls here were clean and white washed, nothing out of place, and even the lighting here was working perfectly. It was like an island of stability, but Hunter felt even more uneasy than before, by virtue of that alone.

His nose twitched.

"Do you smell that?" Hunter asked, softly. Knuckles sensitive nose took in a quick sniff, and he nodded. Either had to say what it was, but it was growing stronger. The trio passed by an intersection, and to their left, both Knuckles and Hunter could see an odd path of wall, strained with dried blood, and a pool of dark urine. It seemed completely out of place in the otherwise clean and sanitary surroundings.

More ominously, some of the bloody marks on the walls were plainly handprints.

"Fired your janitorial staff, did you?" Hunter quipped, hiding his discomfort. His hand tensed and untensed around the handle of his knife, and he shifted the weight of the homemade spear on his back. Spectre didn't say a word, or even give any hint of hearing.

They came at last to a pillared entryway, and through that into a great cavern. It was not some rough-hewn open area, but a carefully carved temple. Huge pillars, too large for a man to put his arms around, rose to support the lower levels of the granite walls. Giant murals decorated the floor and open swaths of the sides and ceiling, more than a hundred feet above. Nine inverted flying buttresses rose from close to the center of the cavern.

This was the Emerald Chamber.

But it was not what shocked the two newcomers.

"By the Great Maker…" Hunter gasped, and stumbled backwards, eyes wide and mouth agape. Knuckles just stared, seemingly entranced. There, in the middle of the massive cavern, sat the Master Emerald, on a stand of gold and platinum. A circlet of electronics and wiring coiled and hooked into it, holding it in place.

And upon the Master Emerald sat a skeleton of titanic proportions.

It filled nearly the entirety of the chamber, the massive arms resting on the flying buttresses, and the skull hunched slightly forward. It was not simply bone, either. Machinery in the form of flying robots, mechanical arms attached to hover platforms, and industrial lasers moved up and down the lattice work and scaffolding surrounding the skeleton. Most of it was not the white bone color, but a bluish gray metallic sheen. In design as in scale, it was like nothing either had seen before.

The great five fingered hands had serrated talons as long as an arm. The chest was almost a solid cavity of interlaced bone. The skull was host to a long jaw of shark like teeth, three whole rows of them. Even the outside of the jaw had bony protrusions sticking out all up to the heavyset cheek. Above and behind looming brows and close set angular eye sockets, great horns spread out and up, like the spires of a crown. A long tail ran along the ground, capped at the end by a host of fierce spikes.

What was truly horrifying, however, was that flesh: muscle and sinew, were growing like a cancer on the supposed bone. Blue and yellow masses, the creatures from before, crawled up and down the massive skeleton, before settling into place, and merging with those nearby, to form new tissues and organs.

In hover platforms, Thunderhawk, Sojourner and Sabre worked and oversaw the job, as lasers put the finishing touches on parts of the hands and face. A stream of chao from a crack in the dome above flowed down as an almost solid mass. They dribbled and slipped over the crest of the skull, and into the rest of the body. Hunter and Knuckles could only watch, dumbstruck, as a collection of the creatures massed together and formed a single unblinking eye in the fleshless skull.

The massive pupil focused in on them.

"Now…" Spectre spoke, turning towards them. His voice was dry and hoarse and from the grave. "Now… you will see…"

Knuckles started to laugh, a mad look on his face.

Hunter, however, was not as amused. Spectre lunged for them, but Hunter was too fast. He slipped past the echidna's grasping hands, tried for a quick cut across the neck, missed by an inch, and settled for reversing the blade and burying it up to the hilt in Spectre's chest right past the ribs. With a dry gurgle, the oldest Guardian fell backwards, the knife still wedged tightly in him. He hit the ground with a muffled thud, his arms and legs still flailing.

Which was strange, since Hunter had just cut his heart in half.

Then, Spectre's head kicked and rolled off to the side. Beneath his black cloak and helmet, something seemed to be moving. A second later, the hood folded back, and Hunter and Knuckles could see a large crack in the back of Spectre's helmet, and a bloody hole behind that. To their growing horror, something black and red oozed out of the crack, slowly coalescing into a chao with bright red eyes.

Knuckles, by this time, was laughing hysterically.

Hunter just shook his head in disbelief. "By the Maker… he had one of those things… in his head…"

"Grandfather Spectre was the first to see the light." A voice came from behind, and Hunter turned to see something step out from the shadows. It was another echidna, with a short white beard, and a long, tattered lab coat. Hunter recognized him as Locke Knuckles' father. But, as he came into the light, Hunter could see that there was something wrong with him.

Locke's lips were gone, replaced with a gruesome visage of pink gums and white teeth. His eyes were manic and wild, the lids seemingly gone. It seemed impossible for him to even speak and form words, and yet he did. Locke approached, that perpetual smile forever ripped onto his face.

"He was the first… and he showed his son and grandson the light as well. It was my pleasure to be the last to see the light… To be introduced to it in a less physically destructive manner." Locke kneeled down next to Knuckles, and ran a hand through his son's quills affectionately. "I see that he has been eating well."

"Eating…?" Hunter looked back at the flesh growing on the skeleton that sat on its Emerald Throne. He suddenly realized all of what had been implied, and dry heaved. Stumbling back, he tried to bring his last meal back up, but it didn't seem to want to comply.

"You see… they had to force feed me, and I fought it for many days." Locke held a hand up in front of his ruined face. "You see where it got me. But my son… he is still perfect and flawless. He will serve the Master so well… We are almost done grafting the chaos resistant metal to his bones. Then he will arise… invincible… and the Guardians will protect and serve the Master Emerald always."

"A new body, for a New Devourer…" Locke chuckled, and slowly walked towards Hunter. "That only leaves you, human. And your kind. Nothing we did to you helped you to see the light, like it did my son. So now we shall try more… vulgar measures…"

"Is that so?" Hunter cracked his knuckles and glared at the former Guardian. "I'll bite my tongue off and bleed to death before I let you put one of those things in my head!"

Locke opened his mouth, and stuck out what was left of his tongue. Then, he started to laugh, and long black and red tendrils erupted from his forearms and elbows. On the floor, Knuckles was still manic, laughing wilding and edging away from the monster that had once been his estranged father.

Behind Hunter, Sojourner and Thunderhawk dropped to the ground, their bodies aglow with chaos energy. They were silent, with tortured expressions on their faces, and hoods behind their heads. Both seemed to have undergone the same treatment that Spectre has suffered from, but from the easy way their bodies moved they promised to be more of a threat.

Marcus Hunter sighed resignedly. "Don't think I'll make this easy for you…"

"Take Him," the voice of the Emerald roared through the broken minds of the echidna Guardians, the children of Edmund, and as one they attacked.


	23. Nothing Beside Remains II

The landslide could be seen for miles.

It was fortunate, then, that no one was around to bear witness to it, or to what had caused the natural disaster. Deep within the craggy peaks of the western half of the Ice Cap Mountains, the area called by some: Sky Sanctuary, two solitary titans continued their duel.

Mammoth Mogul moved swiftly, as his footing became increasingly precarious. He knew why Miles had led him here, in a running battle that had lasted almost an hour. It was an attempt by the young kitsune to nullify the advantages of Mogul's great size, and slow him down. Yes, Mogul had known this, but still continued his pursuit, chasing his foe through the increasingly wet and slippery terrain.

The area would hinder him, but only marginally.

And, as the thunderclouds continued their deluge, he felt growing confidence. He had yet to demonstrate the true power at his command. Instead, he struck with a grunt, and watched as Miles dodged his attack with typical nimbleness, and an acrobatic aplomb that came from being able to vary one's balance using arms, legs, and twin tails. Miles attempted a meager counterattack, generating a trio of explosive rings, and tossing them into the air as he moved. Mogul swatted them with no small amount of flourish, the mighty shaft of the Spear of Rhadamanthus immune to such a paltry attack.

Mogul adjusted his footing, as the ground beneath him gave way, sliding out of place. He jumped, a giant seeming to float in midair, before alighting gracefully on flatter, firmer ground. He was still largely unharmed, especially compared to his opponent, but Miles was far from being beaten. Mogul had to admire his tenacity and perseverance.

Both warriors paused, to catch their breath.

Mogul held his Spear in one hand, and was breathing easily but he could sense that the weariness of his mighty body was beginning to become… uncomfortable. Looking at Miles, he knew for certain that the boy was trying to tire him out, and not just by jumping around. Mogul's body, being larger, was also naturally less efficient. That was simple physics. And with this broken ground, while his balance was far from in question, he kept him moving more than he'd liked.

"So: You wish to wear me down?" Mogul asked, his voice a deep boom that shook the world. "Do not imagine that I will oblige you any further!"

Hundreds of feet away, Miles hear him loud and clear, but didn't reply.

"I deem you… worthy…" Mogul lifted the Spear above his head. It pulsed with energy at Mogul's command, and in the sky heavy gray clouds murmured and built together, into an ever more potent and concentrated thunderhead. Suddenly, for miles around, thunder split the sky asunder in a deafening roar, and a dozen lightning strikes rippled from the air, chaining and coalescing together at the tip of the Spear of Rhadamanthus.

With his free hand, Mogul stretched out his palm. "And now you shall bear witness to the _Jenain al Maaqah_, and the power of the Hanging Heavens!"

Miles could feel the power build all around him, and watched for an attack from Mogul or the sky. It never came. Then, he felt the briefest tingle around his feet, and up his spine, and he realized a movement too late where the strike was to come from. It erupted from the ground like a striking snake out of the cover of leaves, an arching and twisting pure white line of electricity. The power of it threw Miles off his feet, and he twisted in midair to orient himself.

The living lightning bolt bent in the air, turned, and sunk back into the ground.

Miles' eyes moved frantically, as he tried to predict where it would come from next. He searched, all his senses pushed to the maximum and the trill scream of adrenalin behind his ears. Still, for all that, there was no warning when it again erupted from the ground in a spray of supersonic debris that bit into his hardened skin like cannon shells. He flew upwards, his tails propelling him, but the lightning returned, and chased him ever higher, up towards the clouds.

"You can not escape it like that, Miles," Mogul said, though only in a bass whisper, his musing meant only to be heard by himself. "It will follow you in the air or on the ground. The sea is too far away, so what other option will you have? What other option but to attack, and to come at me? And when you do, Miles…"

He leveled the Spear, and held it on both hands.

"When you do… I shall destroy you, mind, body, and soul."

Mogul squinted upwards and saw Miles racing down towards him. He smiled, and began to spin the Spear in his hands, ready for any sort of desperation move. The more it was in motion, the more it built momentum, the faster he could strike and the surer he was of hitting an evasive target. Racing downwards, his body angled and streamlined, his tails a spinning gold blur behind him, Miles rocketed towards Mogul.

And then, with a flash disappeared.

Mogul blinked, and then haughtily sneered. "Of course. Chaos Control."

He held the Spear forward, and the lightning bolt struck and was absorbed without so much as a spray of sparks. One moment it was there, and then it was gone. Mogul looked around, not so much with his eyes, but with the extrasensory powers of one who had lived so long with Chaos Powers, he remembered no other existence. A second later, he, too, disappeared.

A hundred miles to the west, in the middle of the stretch of ocean between Angel Island and the Mobian shore, Mogul reappeared. His massive trunk like legs descended, and his feet hit the water, not with a splash, but a ripple. It was as if a fluttering leaf had hit the water, rather than a twenty-ton behemoth. Opposite him, Miles also stood on the water surface, his breathing ragged. In the distance, the shore of the Mobian main continent appeared as a sliver on the horizon, and behind them loitered a trackless expanse of ocean, the floating hulk of Angel Island unnatural in its position frozen mid-fall.

"Now that I have found you once… you can never escape me." Mogul scoffed, and his arms became a blur as he struck. The Spear of Rhadamanthus hit only water, as Miles shot off to the side, a trail of ocean spray in his wake. A tidal wave, large enough to capsize a small boat, rolled away from the Spearhead, but Mogul didn't miss a beat in trailing it through the water, as he skimmed along the surface like a skater.

Gaining speed, the two skated in nearly parallel paths, zigzagging at impossible angles, the waves from Mogul's rapid-fire blows and slashes churning the ocean water into an unstable tide pool. Again, Miles fired at Mogul with a combination of Ring Bombs and rounds from his 20mm custom. Mogul waded through the attacks disdainfully, before he noticed something unusual in the water. It looked almost like debris.

Realization came a moment too late, as the water exploded.

'Mines!' Mogul asked himself, as two more plumes of water rose up all around him. 'Of course!' While he had been firing with the other weapons at his disposal, Miles had generated ocean-going explosives from the soles of his feet. Just because he seemed to have boots on, didn't mean that he actually did! They were just extensions of his fake body! It was the first trap Mogul had fallen into, and he felt a creeping instant of panic.

Not so much because he feared for his life, but because he just wasn't supposed to be caught off guard. Not him! Not Mammoth Mogul! Not in this body! He made a broad sweep with his weapon, the flat side facing the air where it produced a series of sonic booms. His arms strained from the effort, but he wasn't about to get caught like that again.

His senses began to return to full effectiveness from the sudden shock, and his footing was halfway restored as well, when he noticed that he had lost track of Miles. Had the boy taken the opportunity to Chaos Control again? If so, it would be difficult to track him down, though far from impossible. Instead, Mogul's sensitive ears picked up a tiny splash from around his feet, and he looked down to see a sand colored streak heading upwards.

'What!' Mogul barely had time to think, before Miles fired upwards. Mogul tried to turn his head, but it was too little too late, as explosive incendiary rounds hit all over his face. His eyes became consumed by brightness, and then his sight was plunged into darkness. His upper lip curled in a silent sneer, as Miles' attack mauled his face.

'You can read my body, but not my thoughts, Mogul!' The kitsune thought, but didn't have time to shout. Still shooting upwards out of the water, Miles felt a vicious moment of satisfaction. 'I'll use your body as a shield, and all your vaunted mastery will be for naught!'

Then, as he approached Mogul's former face, the ancient tyrant's head suddenly pivoted, and a multi-ton tusk slammed into Miles' side. He heard a rib crack violently, and spat blood, as it scraped up the inside of one of his lungs. The 'package' in Miles other hand slipped free, flying up into the air, and he smashed into the other tusk as well, before tumbling off to the side like a rag doll.

"You merely blind me…" Mogul started to say, and then something broke apart in front of him. Still, for all his senses, he couldn't determine what it was. There was a spray of something, sticky and thick, and then only white hot noise and pain.

Miles, half his body broken, smiled as he saw the bomb go off in Mogul's face, the aerosol component igniting the liquid napalm and covering half of his opponent's massive body. It was a special mixture, and even as Mogul fell backwards with an enraged howl, Miles knew the water wouldn't put it out. It would burn and burn, until Mogul was nothing more than bone and ash. Feeling the energies of the enemy waver, if only for a moment, Miles concentrated and projected his most powerful and Final Technique: his Chaos Judgment. A split second later, he hit the water with a painful crash. It felt like a wall of concrete had risen up and met him at a hundred miles per hour, and he mercifully blacked out.

Two football fields away, Mogul, too, hit the water in a notably more colossal show of force, his entire body aflame. The great Spear of Rhadamathus slipped from his massive fingers to hang in the air for a moment longer, and then it, also disappeared under the dark and churning waves.

In minutes it was as if they had never been there.

* * *

The giant creature, a perverse amalgam of who knew how many vile chao, hit the wall with a splatter of orange and blue flesh, and a shower of mottled black and red blood. What was left of the hideous face grimaced in a mask of hatred and insanity, tiny razor teeth and heavy set jaw still working as if chewing a piece of meat. With a flash, nearby, a wave of smaller chao simmered and burned.

Lara-Su and Nail stood, back to back, amid the carnage.

Nail's hands were smoking, as green wisps trailed from his body, and burn marks and blood adorned his arms and chest. Lara-Su, meanwhile, was clutching her left arm, which looked like it sported a bloody bite mark on the bicep. Her eyes were smoking red, and the ruby gemstone in her chest glowed protectively. Then, suddenly, she clutched at it in pain.

"Lara!" Nail saw her, out of the corner of his eye, and he unleashed another energy blast, far from his strongest, into a leaping chao the size and temperament of a wolverine. Snarling and baying, it exploded, and the energy ball hit one other mid sized chao-beast, tearing it in half. Nail shook of the weariness in his body, and tried to concentrate.

Lara winced again, her chest in obvious pain. "Something's wrong! We have to hurry! Miles is hurt… really hurt!"

"How is that even possible…?" Nail started to ask.

"It just is! I can feel it!" Lara eyes flared red, and a look of determination dominated her features. All around them, to the front and the back, the endless tide of Chao began to reform. "Damn them! We aren't getting anywhere!"

Nail nodded, grimly. "Suggestions?"

"We need to combine our abilities!" Lara took a step to the side, turned and stepped in front of Nail. He was surprised, but quickly got an inkling of her plan. Without another word, Lara stretched out her arms, and he did the same, until their palms were side to side.

"I hope this works…" Nail whispered.

"If it doesn't… you'll be the first to know." Lara spared him a confident grin, and then faced forward. "Now!"

The Chao horde surged forward.

Nail yelled and summoned his waning strength into his hands, where he released it as a deadly burst of chaos energy. But rather than simply fly out in one direction, Lara reached out with her own power, and twisted the path of the energy projectile. Combining her telekinetic shield with Nail's energy projection, she quickly directed and created a twisting helix of energy blasts around them. Leaping, snapping, enraged Chao splattered harmlessly against it.

With a mad growl, one of the Master Chao, a vicious multiped with two serrated arms and four elephantine legs, reached out to bash its way through. Both arms disappeared in a spray of gore and emerald energy. Then, without any hint of warning, the blazing sphere shot forward, plowing through the chao monster and vaporizing it. Lara and Nail, cocooned within the protective shield, flew past a waiting legion of the creatures that lined the walls, and crawled over every available inch of space.

Finally nearing the Lift down to the deepest depths of Haven, they wavered, as Nail felt his energy ebb to an all time low. Just a few feet from it, the two separated, and Lara carefully began the process of condensing and coalescing Nail's power into one energy ball, held together only by her own telekinetic chaos powers. In their wake, a rumbling tide of horrors turned a corner, just as Lara pitched the energy ball into their midst. For an instant, it vanished into the throng, and then a column of chaos-enhanced fire filled the halls of Haven.

Lara and Nail were, by then, already free falling down the final elevator shaft.

Above them, the flood of fire and destruction, having exhausted the easy paths available to it, turned down the shaft for another place to expand. Lara and Nail raced downwards against it, and as one, the two hit the lowest level, and spring boarded with their legs, tumbling and rolling on their sides as the fires filled the elevator shaft as well, flickering and bellowing and threatening to engulf them where they lay.

Then, mercifully, it retreated and died down.

The two echidna looked each other in the eye.

"Well that was fun," Lara said, and smoothed back her dreadlock spines.

"The insane energy log-ride over a pit of fire. Always a popular ride with the kids." Nail slowly sat up, leaning his back against one of the clean white washed walls. His body sore and hurting, he weakly looked to his left and right, and when he saw no chao, let out a relieved sigh and allowed himself to close his eyes.

"Passing out…?" Lara half asked, have stated. She rolled onto her back, deep breaths making her chest rise and fall rhythmically. "Sounds like a nice plan…"

"Except we can't…" Nail argued, but not with a lot of conviction. Then, as if waking up from a dream, he slapped the side of his face, and worked his way back to his feet.

"Except we can't," he repeated. "Lara! Remember why we're… you're here."

Lara's eyes snapped open. With a sigh, she flipped onto her feet. She clutched at her chest again, and wondered. For a moment there had been a spike of pain, and a feeling of … emptiness. But her power had remained constant, despite it. She just wished she knew what it all meant.

"I remember…" she assured Nail, and the two started down the empty halls.

* * *

"Who are you?"

Knuckles existed, but had no form.

"I don't understand." It was true: he didn't.

The voice seemed amused, but not angry or impatient. "How do you define yourself?"

"I am… Knuckles…" Knuckles said, and he felt his physical body form in the void.

"Go on. What else?" The voice asked, calmly.

"I am the Guardian…" A white crest appeared on Knuckles' chest, just below his collar. His hands grew prominent spikes, his trademark knuckles, though everyone in his line had them. His physical form became more solid.

"I am the Guardian of the Master Emerald, and Angel Island!" Knuckles announced, and the void became a world. He found himself high above the floating island, looking down on it like a cloud. Then, like a ripple on a pond, trees and forests and sand dunes and a thousand other details came into being all over it, giving it an unmarred and pristine appearance. He felt himself descend, and an instant later he stood amid a peaceful glen at the edge of the Mushroom Forest.

It was nice, but there was more.

"I am the Guradian of Echidnapolis, and my people." A city sprouted out of the ground, replete with shops, stores, homes, high-rises, cars, and a bustling population.

"I protect those I care for!" Knuckles saw his mother appear next to him, holding her baby son. Next came Julie-Su, with a beatific smile on her face, looking as content and happy as he had ever known her. One after another, all his friends and (semi-estranged) family appeared: Sally, Sonic, Tails, Vector, Mighty, Espio, Charmy, Amy, Wynmacher, his father (looking quite normal), Athair, Sabre, the rest of the Guardians.

"Show me everything you believe in…" The voice coaxed, with a slightly more malicious tone. Knuckles seemed to take no notice, but he continued nonetheless. He didn't even bother speaking the words, instead just thinking them. He thought of his belief in personal responsibility, in the virtues of steadfast dedication, loyalty, and honor. He recounted his belief in personal redemption, how he believed that, deep down, even his enemies like Dimitri, or Enerjak, could be turned down a right-thinking path.

"This is who I am!" Knuckles announced, proudly. "This is me!"

"You have conviction and strength of character." The voice spoke, more loudly, and with a bit more presence. Knuckles tried to find the source of it in his dream world and failed. It seemed to be coming from inside him, like a twisted version of his conscience. Or maybe it was just that?

"This is why I have chosen to show you something. You are special to me, and similar in many ways to my _little brother,_" the voice explained, with an amused chuckle. "The others I have contacted… save one, are not like you. They were not _special_. One was a simple minded fool, another a brute, another a spurned and inflexible soul, and another a one-dimensional stooge. With you, I hope to be more delicate and subtle in my demonstration of Truth."

"Truth?" Knuckles asked. "What do you mean truth? Who are you?"

"I am your new benefactor. You will know more of me in good time," the voice spoke with a friendly tone, though still more than slightly condescending. It was almost like an upperclassman addressing a younger student he felt fondness for. Knuckles had had many mentors over the years, but he sensed a great difference here.

"You see… these friends and beliefs you have?" The voice continued. "There is an aspect to them that you are not fully aware of. Allow me to… illuminate it."

His friends and family held up their hands. Knuckles watched them; curious, and flinched when he suddenly found his wrists and ankles shackled. Before he could mouth a word of protest, he saw chains materialize, between his shackles and the open hands of those surrounding him. He was held rather loosely, and he also saw the chains sink into the ground, and stretch out for miles down wide streets.

"What?" Knuckles pulled back his arms, and the loose chains rattled. "What is this?"

"For every connection you make with another, you are bound to them. They are the foundation of your existence. However, what you trade for that foundation is freedom. Freedom of action, and thus of choice. You become a living tool of those with fewer constraints. You are afforded a tiny space in which to run and live, and no more."

Knuckles shifted his feet, and felt one of the chains tug tighter. He followed it to Julie-Su. She was drawing him closer, and he could feel other chains getting tighter as well in response. It became harder to move.

"All creatures desire boundaries in which to live. It brings comfort and certainty. To live in a world without boundaries beings uncertainty and discomfort, and who wants that? Let us see which boundaries you prefer."

The circle began to move apart, pulling at him. The chains that went off into the distance, connected Knuckles somehow knew, to the Master Emerald, to the Island itself, even to Mobius, all began to separate. Standing in the middle, the epicenter, Knuckles could feel himself being pulled apart. He began to hear their voices, louder and louder, making demands of him.

"Protect me! Forsake all others!" The Master Emerald commanded.

"There is so much more to life than being a Guardian!" His mother yelled, an excited look on her face, as if she was oblivious to his discomfort. "Come with me, and I'll show you!"

"I love you, Knuckles! Forget your troubles and let me be your happiness!" Julie-Su gave another sharp tug.

"You are destined to join us!" Spectre yelled, his voice a low growl. "To become us!"

"Trust me, son! Trust your father like you used to!" Locke wrapped his arms around a length of chain and pulled all the harder.

"There is more than this island at stake!" Sally had a good grip, and apparently the strength to match. He stumbled in her direction. "Mobius is your home! Come with me, and we can save her! We can even be together again, if you want!"

"This island cries bitter tears at the damage these squatters do!" The island itself wailed. "They burn and cut and pillage and plow!"

"Think of the future!" The city itself rumbled. "Have you thought about Health Insurance? A new apartment? Maybe a car?"

"Help us!" Thousands of echidna yelled at once, from all around: the people of the city and the island. "We can't help ourselves! We need you, Guardian!"

"You don't know how to have a good time, Red!" Sonic laughed, and gave a mighty yank. Knuckles' arms and muscles strained, as he became pulled taunt in every direction, his feet leaving the ground.

"Where were you when I needed you?" Tails sneered, and yanked on his chain. "You stood by while I died! Just like you stood by while Station Square fell! You owe me a debt, like you do the ghosts of all those who died for your failures or inaction!"

"No… stop…" Knuckles' prodigious strength was nothing here, and what resistance he mustered was like pushing against a wave of water. He screamed, long and loud, as his body began to tear. Still, everyone pulled and pulled and pulled, chanting and demanding and yelling their grievances and aspirations and promises.

"Stop… please stop…" Knuckles howled in pain, blood streaming down his ankles and wrists, the bones in his hands breaking. "Please… Stop… STOP! STOP!"

The voice returned, as calm and confident as before. "What freedom do you want? What is important to you, and what will you throw away?"

Knuckles gasped, and looked around. He shook his head.

"I have seen a mind torn into multiple personalities before… It is not pretty, nor in your continued best interests." The voice mused out loud. "Choose, Knuckles. Choose."

He shook his head again.

"Sever the ties that bind you, Knuckles. Free yourself. Thrown down your chains: your obligations and fears and insecurities and anachronistic morality. Do not be afraid… you have my permission. I will give you the power to make new dreams into reality. Beautiful dreams. But first, you must be prepared to use them. Throw everything away, Knuckles. Break your chains."

Knuckles grunted, as his right thumb broke.

"It feels wonderful, I promise you. You will not forget those you care for. All you will do… is realize that freedom is what we take, not what we are given. Free yourself, or suffer the consequences…"

A hand appeared in midair, holding a thick heavy black chain.

"Break your chains." The voice commanded, booming in Knuckles' mind. "Break Them All!"

Finally, rearing back his head, Knuckles roared. One after another, the links of chain splintered, raining metal shrapnel in every direction. He pulled his arms up to his chest, and yet more sapped and broke, flailing through the air like giant snakes. Even the great black chain shattered like glass.

"While slaves can be amusing and useful, a True God wishes for Equals who share His Vision." The voice chortled softly in approval. "And now, perhaps, you will show the world your new freedom…?"

Knuckles body still shook from exertion.

He offered no immediate reply.

Then.

"Perhaps…" He slumped forward, with a crooked smile. "Perhaps I will."

* * *

Knuckles looked up, his mind clear and alert.

He saw Hunter jump off the ground, followed by Thunderhawk and Sojourner, wielding a length of strange metal that looked like it had been torn from a machine. Sojourner slashed with a chaos empowered hand, but Hunter deftly deflected the blow with the metal stick, and slammed it down into the Guardian's shoulder. At the same time, he twisted his upper body to avoid another attack at the hands of Thunderhawk.

Hunter landed on his feet, leaned back and kicked up, snapping off a kick into Thunderhawk's face, and then another into his groin. The echidna grunted and fell back, as Sojourner took his place, a flaming sheath of green energy around his right arm. He clashed with Hunter's makeshift weapon, in a flurry of blue sparks and green light. Then Thunderhawk moved forward with a snarl, a similar enhancement on both of his arms.

Hunter suck in a quick blow to Sojourner's left temple, and the he kneed as he jumped. As the echidna fell backwards, Hunter planted his other foot on the Guardian's face, and jumped upwards, twirling in midair while batting away a trio of energy blasts from Thunderhawk. He landed gracefully and back flipped, as a black tentacle slammed into the ground, and the deformed parody that was Locke moved into the fray.

Hunter had not been idly boasting when he spoke of his prowess.

Locke had four extra appendages at his disposal, besides what was left of his normal arms, hands and legs. Giant black tendrils snapped and struck, and Hunter weaved between them or knocked them aside. When he was nearly backed up into a wall, he jumped back, and jumped off, gaining enough height to flip over Locke's head. On the way, he hit the echidna across the face with a wet thwack, sending Locke spinning. When he landed, he kicked back, hitting the abomination onto his chest.

Any further counter attack was interrupted by the arrival of Thunderhawk, swinging his arm around like a blade. Hunter stepped expertly into the strike and out of the strike zone, grabbed the mad echidna by the throat and the arm, and head butted him savagely, caving in his nose. Hunter the pulled Thunderhawk back, and repeated the treatment, two move times before using the limp body as a shield against Sojourner, who struck from above, hurling bolts of green chaos energy.

Hunter released Thunderhawk's smoking body, snapping his neck at the same time, and back flipped, slipping away.

Locke and Sojourner gave him no respite, and chased after him without hesitation. Hunter jumped, grabbed hold of a piece of scaffolding, and made a gymnastic leap higher onto another piece of the interconnected latticework, keeping his balance on a tube of metal only two or three inches in diameter. Sojourner flew up, using his chaos powers to propel him, and landed opposite the human.

Hunter smirked, and gestured him forward.

Below them, Locke's tentacles helped lift him off the ground and up the structure. Hunter no doubt sensed the approach of the more freakish of the pair, and dueled with Sojourner only long enough to push him back. He then made another jump, onto one of the automated construction robots that tended to the massive skeleton that sat atop the Master Emerald. Sojourner pounced, unafraid; his right arm a bonfire of green.

Hunter also leapt, with a feral yell.

The human landed, a little unsteadily, on another exposed support beam. Sojourner wobbled in midair, a long shaft of metal imbedded in his mouth and out the back of his skull, stained red and blue and yellow. He tumbled out of control, crashed into another of the automated drones, and hit the ground with a sound like wet leaves.

Hunter had no time to enjoy his victory, as he moved desperately to avoid Locke's attacks. It was like fighting a hydra, as Locke kept Hunter at a distance, snapping savagely. A hard blow connected, lacerating and creating a terrible rip on the human's abdomen. Hunter grimaced, and avoided two more strikes, before another pegged him on the leg, and then a black tentacle wrapped around his neck.

"I have you…" Locke spoke through pearl white teeth, jaw clenched closed. He slammed Hunter back against a thick support beam, holding him by the throat like the large human weighed nothing more than a child. Hunter's body started to go limp, when his hand fell to his side, brushed past his upper thigh, and reached behind him. When it came up, there was a knife held in fingers with white knuckles.

It flashed through the air, and the tentacle holding Hunter aloft became two and a half feet shorter. Locke snarled, and rather than escape, Hunter instantly shifted into an attack, lunging and burying the knife into Locke's belly, one hand on the hilt, the other pressed against it for leverage. Feet churning, he pushed the two of them off the support they had balanced on, through the air, and onto the floor. Hunter only stopped pushing forward, Locke still impaled, when the latter's back slammed hard into a stone pillar.

With a hoarse cry, Hunter twisted the weapon and pulled it upwards, deeper into Locke's body until his entire forearm disappeared into the echidna ex-Guardian. Locke's vile tentacles whipped around, and two hit Hunter on the back, parting skin and flesh from muscle and bone. The human fell forward, and then rolled to the side, half his back red and bleeding. Still on his feet, Locke shuffled forward, disemboweled.

Hunter crawled away, his left arm useless and broken at the shoulder. He was trailing blood, on the verge of exhaustion and death, but still he crawled slowly, painfully, towards a fallen piece of debris. What value it would have as a weapon was debatable, but Hunter reached for it nonetheless, driven by instinct and impulse.

A steel-soled foot stepped on the broken metal with a clang.

Knuckles reached down, and picked Hunter up by the scruff of his shirt. The human blinked, and stared into cold mauve eyes. There was recognition there, but no real emotion. No: there was something. Some flicker of fire deep down. Knuckled nodded.

And then his eyes shimmered, like the surface of a lake at midnight.

Hunter flew through the air, his body flaccid and plastic. He seemed to arch slowly, purposefully, before landing in the right hand of the monstrous skeleton. From the broken ceiling of the Emerald Chamber, more and more chao flowed, formless and faceless. The great golden eye in the skull moved, dilated, and looked down at its prize. Skeletal fingers shook, and slowly closed like a cage around Hunter's broken body.

Flesh flowed down the arm, growing into sinew and muscle. A jaw lined with hand-sized teeth opened, and there was a stentorian rumble like the sound of a distant earthquake. Bits of stone fell from the high domed ceiling, and several pillars became loosened and collapsed to the ground.

"So much for the Brotherhood of Guardians…" Knuckles lowered his arm, his voice mild and low-key. "Well. I suppose they weren't necessary anymore, were they? I will create a New Brotherhood in their place. A new Covenant."

Knuckles sighed softly, and the beginnings of a smile crossed his features.

Then, two individuals interrupted his peaceful new world and came to his attention. He turned his head look at them out of the corner of his eye, and saw them to be his misbegotten clone, and some new girl. One with the Guardian crest. Another genetically engineered mistake, was it? He sorted in ill humor, his choler rising.

The three stood there, in silence, none knowing just what to say.

"What the hell is going on here?" Nail finally asked, after a quick glance to his companion, though the question had not been addressed to her. Knuckles didn't reply, but slowly walked between them and the Master Emerald. That action did not go unnoticed, nor was it met with anything approaching obvious approval.

"… Knuckles…" The girl spoke, though she seemed to have some difficulty, her voice wavering. "Knuckles! Will you help us save the Emerald? Will you help us…"

"Help you _save the Emerald_?" Knuckled cut her short and barked out a derisive laugh. "I came here with that very same idea. Save the Emerald. Preserve the Emerald. Live and die at the beck and call of the Emerald. Spend five lifetimes polishing it to a nice brilliant sheen. That… was… the plan."

He cracked his knuckles.

"But now…" he continued, with a tiny little smile. "I don't think I'll miss it. Its owner has returned, you see, and frankly: I'll be happy to have him take it back. You try spending seven days straight searching for broken shards of it, and you'll feel the same way."

"Then step aside and let us take care of it," Nail suggested, though his posture suggested that he knew a fight was inevitable.

"Ah. Sorry. I could, but I'd rather have it in His Hands." Knuckles pointed behind him at the skeleton, now almost a third covered in living flesh. "Than yours. Still, you're welcome to come with me on the way out once everything is taken care of here."

"What… what happened to you? Why…?" Lara felt a wound in her heart, and knew she had failed. She had traveled through time, and been too late. Still, she felt compelled to know what had happened. There could still be a way to reverse it – to save her father and return him to normal.

"You really want to know what _happened to me_?" Knuckles cocked his head to the side in apparent good cheer. "I… realized… my own liberation. For only a moment, I had the luxury of casting aside all my engrained aspirations, indoctrinations and limitations. During that instant of freedom, I was able to recreate all my goals and desires, with the memory of the past, but none of the chains. Do you understand? I have been shown a glimmer of true freedom. Can you even imagine what that means?"

"A clean slate…" Knuckles took a deep cleansing breath. "Or maybe: a reorganized one."

"We don't have time for this…" Nail warned.

Lara glared at her companion, and then turned back to her father with pleading eyes. "Come with us, please. Come with me. I don't fully understand all that has happened to you, I admit that. But things can go back to the way they were. We can help you!"

Knuckles snorted loudly at that suggestion. "Not interested. I don't know you… and I don't know how you know me. I don't even know why you're making such a fuss about this. Who are you, anyway?"

"I'm… I'm…" Lara hesitated to tell him. 'I'm your daughter from the future! I came back to stop you from becoming a tyrant who estranged himself from his entire family. Oh, and one of your friends put an Emerald in my chest, and I think I'm tied to him for the rest of my life. I never really knew you very well, but I've heard a lot, and I'd like to know you better and make you into the sort of father I never had…'

"I'm…" Lara-Su gulped. "I'm someone who…. who just wants to help you. To see you happy, and with the ones you love."

Knuckles quirked an eyebrow at that. "And the crest on your chest? The one only Guardians should have?"

"I… can't say…" Lara admitted, and looked down at her feet. "I'm sorry."

Behind Knuckles, a giant four-chambered heart formed between folds of flesh, and began to beat. Nail glowered at this, and stepped forward. He could feel the power of the Master Emerald, twisted and vile. It sickened him to his stomach to see such a massive … festering boil of chaos energy, perverted in this fashion. He could practically feel Athair close by, still trapped in the Emerald, and still fighting against the all-consuming corruption. And losing.

"Get out of my way," Nail said, coolly. "I won't warn you twice."

Knuckles appeared completely unimpressed.

"You'll have to move me from this spot," the former Guardian of Angel Island replied, and crossed his arms. "If you dare."

Nail crossed his arms, his power gathering and building into a blinding halo of light. Swirling energies built together at his command, and shooting both hands forward, were unleashed. Knuckles took a step forward, and then broke into a sprint, heading right towards the column of energy, his right hand in front of him. White energy bubbled up to the surface, and on contact with Nails' green, cut clean through it. Knuckles ran clear through the energy blast, completely unfazed, swept his hand up, and seized his clone by the throat.

"You moved me… But…" Knuckles smirk grew, and it became cruel. "You'll wish you hadn't."

And then Nail saw and felt only white blinding light.

-----

"This way! Over here! I saw 'im!"

A bright light tracked across the forest, illuminating drooping trees and wet shrubs in the midnight gloom. Against the starry night, black painted shapes hovered, and below them, a village burned. Even in the forest, the smell of roasting flesh was pervasive. Flashlights shone back and forth, searching, while a half dozen bodies moved loudly through the bushes in military fatigues.

"You sure about this? I don't see a damn thing!"

"I saw 'im! Fast little bugger, but not fast enough!"

In a tree, crouched low, Mogul could feel Miles' body tremble in fear and anger. He experienced it as if the memory was his own, and as if he was the one who had hidden alone, all those years ago, and wondered whether to pray for life or revenge. He felt Miles' emotions flare, as he remembered how he had fled when the attack began, his natural impulse to find cover from the invasion that came from above and out at sea.

At the time, he had no idea who his assailants were.

He was still a child.

After wandering for almost a year on his own, he had been caught trying to steal food from a village. After a beating at the hands of some of the local boys, an elderly couple of foxes had taken in the near feral kitsune. Despite having a nearly eidetic memory, Miles still couldn't remember their names. They had fed him, and taught him, and tried to raise him, despite the many fights he got into and the trouble he caused them. It was they who told him his name: Miles Prower.

They were dead now.

He had looked over his shoulder as they ran, and saw an explosion where their small house had once been. The blast and the concussion threw all three to the ground. Only Miles had gotten back up. Seeing that they weren't breathing, he ran into the forest from which he had first came, and didn't look back. Or, at least he hadn't wanted to. Something, some strange feeling, had compelled him to see what was going on, and who was responsible.

It was then that he saw them rounding up the remaining villagers at gunpoint. They worked with precision and a sort of practiced ease that came from the military, or mercenary, life. They were avian breed mobians, one and all. Three airships floated overhead, and in the distance, a single ship floated offshore. He had watched them for some time, and had felt safe at night about not being seen. Then, amazingly, one of the soldiers had seen him. At the time, he hadn't understood how.

"There! Up there!"

"Huh? Where?"

"There! There!" One of the soldiers gestured aggressively in Miles' direction. Hissing in fear and hatred, Miles tried to bolt for it. He was nimble - always was, always had been – and jumped from branch to branch. They were wet, though, and his bare handed grip on one of the branches slipped. With a yelp, he tumbled and fell, but cushioned his impact with the ground using his twin tails.

Flashlights and voices filled the air.

Standing, Miles tried to run, but his ankle was sprained, and forced him into a painful limp. He kept going, despite the agony that was every step. In the end, it was all for nothing. They caught up with him, and paid him back for leading them on a chase through tick-infested woods.

"Little brat!" Another steel toes boot collided with Miles' side, and he curled more tightly into a little ball, trying to squeeze the pain out of his body. His tenacity earned him another kick.

"Check it out! This freak's got two tails!"

"Two tails?" Another boot stomped down on one of Miles' tails, and he screamed and thrashed. A boot hit the side of his face, sending a jet of blood into the boy's mouth from his ruined cheek He stared upwards limply, and saw another one of the avians approach, this one with something over his eyes. Some sort of… mechanical glasses. He was the one who had spotted Miles when the others had not. Did the glasses somehow grant him enhanced vision, even at night?

"Well I'll be damned…" The leader of this group of soldiers stared down at Miles, and cocked his head. "An honest to Source two tailed fox. And a little one at that. Isn't that a strange sight?"

He rubbed his chin, and kneeled down to look at Miles more closely. With his right hand, the leader opened his eyes wide and checked the pupils, and then felt the arms and legs. After a few more seconds of appraisal, he stood back up and addressed his men.

"Take him along." He then clarified. "Alive, gentlemen. A little more meat on his bones, and he'll work well in the slave pens if nothing else."

"Alright, you little shit! On your feet!" Two of the soldiers pulled him up none too gently, and made him walk. Miles could feel the ends of their rifles poking him in the back, and knew well that the slip of a finger would leave him full of holes. One step at a time, he walked back to the burning village, the stench of death filling his nose and his body a knot of agony.

For months, he toiled in a slave camp, where forced labor was used to manufacture weapons of war. It was there, from the slaves and from the end of the taskmaster's whip that he learned the rest of the mobian Common language, in which he previously had only a rudimentary education. He worked and slept, his body falling into a sad routine, but his mind… his mind wandered. He asked questions, and bared the contemptuous blows from those without answers or patience to explain them to what was apparently only a small child.

He learned that he was in the 'employ' of the so-called "Battle Bird Armada." He learned that the Armada had once been part of a great military that served a mighty king, and that they had been formed to fight the distant and powerful overlanders – hairless creatures, not mobian, but something else. These strange beings were powerful and dangerous, and the King had made war on them for many years. Eventually, the Kingdom had fallen and the king disappeared, presumed slain, by a treacherous overlander he had accepted into his inner circle. The Armada had fled rather than join the armies of the usurper, and now wished to carve out a kingdom or empire of their own.

But for that dream to come true, they needed more ships, and more and better weapons. So they raided island villages and towns, made the people into slaves and forced workers, and put them into industrial and agricultural complexes. Many times, Miles had thought of escape, but there really was nowhere to escape to. For a long time, he fell into a spiral of bitterness and despair, the only thing to occupy his mind being the machinations of the Armada, and the small role he had in the creation of their new empire.

And, in time, he developed an intricate knowledge of those weapons they used.

One day, using materials left lying around in the pens, he constructed a small rocket, and calculating the trajectory purely in his head, fired it out over the barracks of the Technical Overseer. Miles had seen the mobian numerous times before, and noted that he had an unhealthy affection for explosives of all sorts. The guards had been enraged by the display, and had of course beaten him, but when he woke up, he saw the Overseer looking down at him with a broad, honest smile.

"Let's see what you can do, kid." Colonel Bean had made that simple promise, and had been true to his word. The little green duck had given Miles an education, and then turned him loose on the real topics of interest to the Armada: Chemistry, Electronics, Physics, more Chemistry, more Physics. Bean himself simply loved explosives, he had little interest in how they worked, but Miles was enthralled. For all its might, and for all the books and learning it had on hand, the Armada had no real dedicated scientists. As a child savant with a natural, genius level IQ, Miles had still been a slave, but was no longer beaten.

It was an improvement, and Miles took to his assigned tasks with a gusto and determination that demonstrated his understanding that the alternative was a return to the pens and the labor camps. In a few months, he had digested the information from every relevant book the Armada had accumulated relating to weapons manufacture and explosives. It was then that Miles made his first adjustments and tentative designs, and it was then that Bean gave him his nickname.

"Miles Prower sounds retarded," Bean had proclaimed, while running his hands across a newly fabricated Fuel Air Explosive of Miles' design, the product of Project Maelstrom. "Tails. Your new name is Tails. How does that strike you?"

He hadn't liked it, at the time.

"Thank you, sir," had been his tart response.

Bean nodded then, and the matter was closed. "What was the overpressure on this again? What was it that you and the others calculated, Tails?"

"Well in excess of forty kilograms per square centimeter, sir," Miles… Tails… answered without apparent emotion. Though, really, he was quite proud of what sat before them, ready to be dropped from the lumbering airship. He just hoped that nothing went wrong. All his smaller projects had gone off well, but this was the Big One. He had bragged that it was possible, and after almost a year, he was ready to unveil his baby: Maelstrom 01.

"Additionally," he said, knowing Bean enjoyed hearing about the effects of a bomb as much as the actual explosion. "Once the firestorm has begun, the actual blast wave should reach supersonic speeds within a tenth of a second of primary ignition. My calculations put it at somewhere around eight times the speed of sound."

"Oh... yeeeahhh… Yeah!" Bean caressed the metal shell of the fuel air explosive bomb. "And the temperature? How hot does this little lady get!"

"Three thousand degrees centigrade, sir." Tails noted how Bean squirmed happily and giggled like an overeager schoolgirl. Not that he knew any overeager schoolgirls, of course, but he'd heard the soldiers of the Armada talk about them rather wistfully and describe them in sordid detail.

"Three thousand degrees!" Bean laughed with tears in his eyes, and hummed softly to the warhead. "You know, Tails, I'm almost sorry we have to detonate this little lady. This fine lady."

"The Air Marshal wishes to be assured of its effectiveness," Tails explained, deadpan. The fat bastard leading the Armada did not personally care for non-avian mobians, and despite Tails' apparent usefulness and technical expertise, the old mobian still thought of and treated him like a labor slave. Tails still bristled at how the Marshal had spoken of him in the third person, even when he was present, like he was some kind of pet dog that kept making a mess on the carpet.

'Being treated like a child was one thing, something I hardly ever knew, but as less of a mobian than those around me? As inferior, somehow, because of my race or deformity?' Tails felt the anger then, as now, at that reoccurring theme in his short life. He would show them. He would show them with His Maelstrom!

He and Bean went to the bridge of the airship, talking animatedly about what was to come, at least in theory. The bomb did most of its damage in the form of the overpressure wave, which would crush any targets in the first zone of impact, if the intense heat didn't flash fry them. The Marshal had wanted a bomb that was effective against both mobian and robotic targets, and from what examples Tails had been shown, The Maelstrom was more than capable of smashing both "SWATbots" and organic targets in the field. In an urban setting, the blast would be magnified even further.

They arrived at the bridge, and Tails was the only non-avian mobian among them. He was used to it by then, and didn't feel discomfort at standing out. He looked out over the bridge's array of windows, and saw the target area for the first time. It was a fairly lush bit of coastline that they were moving along. Then he saw it: a small mock town, with slightly damaged buildings and wind swept roads. It looked remarkably realistic.

"Target in sight," the ship's communications officer confirmed. "We have go. We have go."

"Making approach vector," the helmsman said, voice level.

As they picked up speed and gained altitude, Tails saw tiny dots on the roofs of some of the buildings. While he hadn't wanted to believe it before, he was now absolutely certain: that was a real town. A real seaside down, though it looked like it had been shelled once or twice before.

"Sir," Tails said, addressing Bean. "What is our target, exactly?"

"It's right in front of you, kid. You have to ask?" Bean rolled his eyes.

"But…" Tails almost protested, but held his tongue. "That is: isn't it wasteful to destroy potential slaves like this?"

Bean shrugged. "They're pirates, I think. It hardly matters. They've obviously been something of a pain in the ass, so we're going to blast 'em. Blast 'em to bits!"

Closer and closer, and Tails felt his heart race. Everyone else seemed quite calm and composed. Well, except for Bean, who had a slightly crazed look in eager anticipation of what was to come. He felt beads of sweat grow on his forehead, and wiped them away with the back of his hand. He repeated what bean had said, so off hand. They were Pirates. Criminals.

Like the Armada, but without the big guns to fight back and win.

Some of the tiny motes tried to fire up at the airship with handheld weapons. Some had light laser weapons, and some had slug throwers. None could have made any difference. Tails licked dry lips, and tried not to think who was down there. Whether they had families, and whether those families were hunkered down in makeshift shelters, praying and hoping to survive. The approach countdown hardly even registered in his mind.

But he felt it when the ship lurched, and dropped Maelstrom 01.

Running, as the ship turned and hit afterburners, Tails pressed his face up against the cold glass. Bean joined him, as did several others attached to the bridge crew. The sharp turn and acceleration away from the town didn't offer a great view, but it was hard to miss when what seemed like half the coastline lit up like a matchstick. First there was nothing, and then there was fire.

So much fire.

So that it was all he could see, burned forever into his memory.

He stumbled back, tripping on his own tails, his mouth slack and his breathing ragged. Bean whooped wildly, and the other members of the Armada soon joined him. The Captain clapped, a wide smile on his face, and for a moment Tails was struck dumb by the insanity of it all. And by the fact that he had done it. It had proved to them all what he was capable of, and that he was someone… something… they should respect.

All it had taken was the deaths of… how many? He didn't even know.

The tiny motes were all gone. The faceless mobians that had once lived, if tenuously at the edge of Armada Territory, would have been either cooked in their skin, blown to carbon ashes, or if they survived the fireball, were stumbling around blind and riddled with internal injuries, their roasted lungs flooding with blood and dead tissue. In one fell stroke, he had killed them. He had reached out, and with a fiery hand extinguished their small, little lives.

He hadn't thought of it before: the lives that would be lost.

When he had wandered the woods, alone, he hadn't thought about the lives of others. When he had been adopted for a few short months, he had hated and feared those around him, and they had tormented him mercilessly. His first real home that he could remember had been with the Battle Bird Armada. What had he cared for their enemies? Yet… yet he remembered so well the weary slaves in the work camps, the ones that he had never visited, and had been content to let construct his weapons like the Maelstrom. He remembered them suddenly, all on a rush, and he wondered how many children like himself had there been down there, before the fireball hit?

Mogul felt the waves of panic, and confusion, and fear and revulsion rise up and envelop him, through Miles' memories. He saw how Miles had turned against the Armada, orchestrated his escape, and then taken on a one-mobian war against them. He saw how their ships had been destroyed, and their leader broken. He saw how, after his work was done, Miles had thrown away or hidden his remaining weapons, and returned to a life of wandering. He saw how the young fox had followed Sonic, on a whim, and begun their friendship.

He felt how Miles found a new life with Sonic and the Freedom Fighters. He felt the boy's heart lighten when Sally spoke of the ideological greatness and purity they fought for. He could feel the passion rise in the child as she spoke of winning a war without terrible weapons, and without death and destruction. It was a grand foolishness, an idealism, that was only possible because of Sonic, and his heroics in the face of the superior firepower the Armada had so expounded. For a time, Tails had reveled in it, and eagerly, almost greedily, soaked up the affection and attentions of others who saw him as a child to be nurtured and protected.

Then, gradually, everything had changed.

The dream had died, not with a roar but with a whimper, by a thousand pinpricks rather than a calculated blow. Despite Sonic's heroism, the war was not being won. Despite Sonic's heroism, mobians and people died in droves. Sally's conviction remained strong, but Tails grew weary of the fighting, of the dying, and of the futility. Where once he had felt comfort, being a child, he came to find only frustration, as his efforts and suggestions were rebuffed and strangled by the limitations others imagined in him. He fled to Station Square, and there rededicated himself to the pursuit of victory.

In retrospect, Miles suspected that Bean would have been proud of what he became. In the end, the Armada, in all its ugliness, had found a portion of the truth. Ideology was nothing without the strength to back it up, and for all the beauty and inspiration of a dream like Sally's, the facts of the world never changed, and one always had to wake up eventually. So, for a second time, he became a God of War, and his name was once again Miles.

It was what he had to be, not what he wanted to be.

And Mogul understood.


	24. Nothing Beside Remains III

A skirt of deciduous trees formed a narrow band between the plains below, still warmed by the vestiges of summer, and the cooler heights to the north. The forest was primarily oak and beech with hornbeam and maple also present in force. The leaves were already beginning the metamorphosis into a colorful tapestry of reds and yellows, accented by the deep evergreen of spruce solidly visible in the distance. On hills that rolled and ebbed up to the horizon, a cloak of conifers, which included not only spruce but yew, fir, pine and sharply needled larch, climbed the covered the rounded shoulders as far as the eye could see.

The heat that had brushed the southern plains below with the ephemeral touch of the short hot summer was already fading, giving way to the inevitable grasp of winter's chill. Amid the rugged landscape, beneath the canopy of trees, small shapes moved. They were not the wild animals of the forest, but something different. This was an old time, if not the oldest of times.

"Look, momma! Blackberries! Over here!"

Miles saw, through eyes not his own, as a russet colored female mobian – the same mammoth breed as her father he realized – carefully approached a thorny bush and began picking cold blue black berries. He watched, as another female of the same color, but older, came and helped her collect the berries and place them in a small leather pouch.

'My mate… my daughter…' he realized, with some shock and surprise. They were foraging, and he was returning with two badgers and a rabbit over his right shoulder, all killed by his sling, and the skill he had with it. The furs would be used as part of a new parka his wife was making for the winter, to replace one that had been chewed up by wolves last year. It was almost done, and promised to be very warm. And, while the badgers hardly made for good eating, they would do nonetheless, and the claws and fangs would help finish the necklace he was making in secret for his mate.

They were glad when they reached the elevation of the evergreens, where the constant shade kept the undergrowth to a minimum. On the steppe slopes the canopy was not nearly as dense, so the light that filtered down provided for a population of shrubbery that slowed down any real attempt at making good time. It was approaching evening when the three finally made it to the timberline. Free of entangling brush and the obstacle source of larger trees, they set up tent beside a fast, cold brook.

A small herd of deer were at pasture nearby, the males rubbing their antlers on branches and trees to free them of the soft coating of skin and nourishing blood vessels called velvet. The fall rut was almost upon them.

"It will soon be their season for Pleasures. They are getting ready for the fights and the females," he observed, looking up as he struck the flint and started their fire for the night. His mate sat nearby, her legs tucked under her, a handful of sticks at the ready to stoke the small flames. His daughter was in the tent, and if he knew her, she was probably helping herself to one or two or three more blackberries, assuming that no one would notice they were missing.

"Mog," his mate said, and it filled him with a warm endearment. "Is fighting a Pleasure for males?"

Mogul blew on the fire carefully, and considered her question. "It may be, for some. Especially when we enter musk. There is a certain pleasure in competition and in having standing."

"You do not fight as much as the other males, Mog," his mate noted, and quite accurately. He hadn't done much fighting since his musk, a few years ago.

"I've done my share of fighting. I have my mate, and my family," he explained, slowly. "Fighting… sometimes it draws you in. You lose your head, and your sense. I don't mind competition, like wrestling or sling contests, but if things get too serious, someone inevitably suffers."

"You are too gentle, my Mog…" she said, and put her hand on his affectionately. Then, something caught her eye, and the looked up at the sky. "Look! Look!"

He, too, averted his eyes heavenward, and saw it.

"A falling star…" He smiled. "A good omen."

They watched as the light fell, a long trail of fire against the darkening sky. It flickered green, too, which was unusual, before crashing to the ground some distance away. Coincidentally, it had landed on the route they were taking back to the village.

"It lands so close by…" he murmured. "I think I shall investigate it. I have never seen a star, and I think it should provide an interesting story for the village headman."

"Are you sure?" His mate asked, a little nervous.

"Do not worry," he assured her, and patted the sling at his belt. "It isn't even dark yet. Give me only a few hours, and I'll be back with something truly special: a piece of the sky itself!"

He left her, and headed around the pasture and over some open grassy land. For an hour, he moved over that, noting his location with visual cues. He would not get easily lost, even on land he had not traveled before – such skills were simply a matter of survival, and he had gone this way before, to and from the village to the hunting and foraging grounds he preferred. Finally, he saw smoke rising from a crater, and he approached cautiously, but with a visible eagerness.

What he saw took his breath away.

It was a stone unlike any he had ever seen before. It was green, like the color of leaves, but lighter than that, as if he was looking into water. He was familiar with amber, but this seemed totally different. The crater was quite shallow, and he easily made his way closer, feeling an excited tingle run down his back. He reached for it, expecting it to be very hot, but it didn't burn or scald him. It was pleasantly warm, a little more than body temperature he supposed, and the whole gemstone managed to fit in the palm of one large hand.

With it snugly in hand, Mogul began to feel…

He began to feel…

Miles, in Mogul's body, struggled for words. The feeling was so peculiar, but so familiar. It was like a song… a sweet siren song. It was like tasting wonder, or feeling a bright pure light across your body.

"You're… so…" Mogul's hands began to shake, and he held the jewel up, his tone reverent. "Beautiful…."

The Emerald began to glow, brighter and brighter, until the rest of the world faded into the periphery. It all seemed insubstantial. Suddenly, overpoweringly, he felt the urge to become one with this bright existence. To take it into himself, and make it a part of his body and soul. He wasn't sure how long he stood there, or even what happened exactly, only that there was so much light… and then that he was stumbling, moving… and the sight of his mate, shocked and afraid, when he finally returned to camp.

His daughter seemed after her initial surprise, to think of it as an interesting curiosity. He smiled at that, remembering her small hands on the Emerald in his chest, patting and feeling the sides. Despite being stone and not flesh, he could feel them in an ethereal way, through the Emerald itself. His child's giggles, however, could not erase the clear and present fear and discomfort of his mate, as she watched him with alien emotions, their way back to the village.

He recalled, and Miles remembered through him, that that was where things started to go wrong. The Headman, like his mate, had been suspicious of the changes in him. After a few days, he held a village communal to discuss what had happened. He remembered when the Matriarch spoke, that withered old crone, and claimed that he had been invaded by evil spirits that had been cast out of the skies. Such nonsense! How could anyone have believed that toothless old cow?

He had railed, defended himself. He had told them that he was the same as before. That he had not changed. That he was not the pawn of evil spirits. Sure enough, he felt the same… better, even! His toothache had disappeared, and the nasty scar on his left leg had healed up like new. His mate became cold to him, but he had figured that she just needed time to adjust. But they hadn't waited, they hadn't listened…

The headman turned his back.

And, one by one, so did the rest of the village.

Mogul could only stand there, stunned, as they turned their backs on him. He faced his brother, eyes pleading, but to no avail. Mogur averted his eyes, and turned his back. The stupid superstitious fool! Finally, there was only his mate… his beloved mate and their daughter. He held out his arms, but just like that, she turned. His mate turned her back on him. Only his daughter faced him, and then she was forced to turn away as well.

"Daddy!" she had cried, and in that moment he had wanted to take her away. Take her into his arms, and away from this damnable place, and these people who would cast him into exile.

"He is with the spirits, now…" His mate had murmured, softly, and held her tightly. "Don't look. He is with the spirits."

"Begone restless spirits!" The old Matriarch barked as she walked between him and his family. She shook her staff in the air, chanting rhythmically. "Begone! The World Mother Commands you Begone!"

"You can't do this to me!" Mogul hissed, fists clenching and unclenching. "You can't cast me out! Don't so this! Maga! Natii! Look at me. Look at me! LOOK AT ME!"

"Begone!" The Matriarch shook her staff right across his face, nearly clipping one of his tusks. He snarled, and thought about making a grab for the offending object. Then… then he thought again. He thought of his mate and daughter. He couldn't, wouldn't, put them at risk. If they were all exiled, he was certain that they would die. Here, at least, they would be safe and cared for.

Slowly, he lowered his eyes. "Natii. Don't forget me. Don't forget your father."

His daughter looked at him, very briefly, and he thought she understood.

And then he backed away.

Nearing the edge of the encampment, he took one long last look at what had been his family. Then, before he lost his nerve, Mogul turned and walked away, the Emerald in his chest casting his features in a haunted light against the growing gloom. He wandered for years after that, seeking to get as far from his people, his distant kin, and those who had known him. If he had tried to insinuate himself into another group, and they found out he was an exile at one of the comer meetings, then he would not be forgiven. It was better to wander in dignity, and wait for death.

Forests and deserts and endless plains passed him by… Living off the land, and his own wits, he crossed mountains and glaciers, rivers and valleys deep enough to get lost in. As the years blurred, he never lost his strength. If anything, age brought a greater clarity to his solitude wracked mind, a focus to his thinking, and a new sort of power to his flesh and bones. He had the idea, almost on a whim, to find the edge of the world, and cast himself from that height, returning the star stuff in his chest to where it belonged. Perhaps that, he reasoned, was his new purpose?

So he circled the world.

It took well over a century, but he returned to where he came from. Still, he was alive. Still, he was untouched by age. His skin was still taunt over corded muscle, unwrinkled and smooth. His sight and hearing and all other senses were still razor sharp. He knew a dozen languages and twice ad many dialects. He had seen more of the world than a thousand others put together, and everywhere he saw the same thing: the same existence. The same way of life that had cast him out.

Slowly, it began to fill him with disgust.

One day, walking down a familiar trail, in a familiar land, he approached the village that had exiled him. He half expected to be chased out once more, another ancient Matriarch waving her accursed staff at him. Instead, as he approached, he felt a moment of fear. There was no smoke, no smells, no waste pit; no sign of a settlement. He knew the way intimately, even after so long, but the village… what he found was a half ruin. Even the semi-permanent lodgings for the Headman and Matriarch had fallen into disrepair. Wild animals had picked the place clean of anything edible, and the unknown fate of the people there left a bitter taste in his mouth.

He searched. For years, he searched. Those at the Summer Camp spoke rumors of a plague. Others claimed that nomads from the south had migrated through the land, and killed many. Then, there was the simple possibility of starvation. Still, Mogul searched for survivors. He searched the faces of those he met, as well as the stories they told, for his family. But history, cruel history, had simple swallowed them up.

Centuries passed.

"I dream of stone…" he once muttered, pondering his existence atop an outcropping of rock. Before him stretched the land, and then the sea, mixing and churning where a great river emptied itself, flooding down from melting mountains.

"I dream of stone!" he cried, a lifetime of visions raging a tempest in his mind. "Stone that does not fade, stone that does not wash away, stone that will outlive even me! I dream of stone! Stone walls and stone longhouses, and stone paths cutting through the wilderness! I dream of a people made of stone, with a metal will! A people to outlast the elements and the gods themselves!"

With a mighty cry, he buried his fist into the rock, shattering it.

"A place of stone…" he said, then, his voice hushed, "And I shall be its foundation…"

Miles remembered. He more than remembered. He felt it, relived it. Mogul choose a spot, surveyed it for years, including in his study the lands nearby. And then he went to work. He found a large deposit of andesite, a hard volcanic rock, and by trial and error broke it, shaped it, and made uses for it. With his own hand, he cut and shaped those first massive blocks of stone, and with raw strength carried them. He buried the fitted stones half into the ground, building part of a wall, and a colossal gateway that aligned with the northern pole.

It was the beginning.

He traveled to tribes and villages, and found the camps of nomads. One by one, he broke them to his will, and made them do his bidding. And his bidding was to conquer. He oversaw the great migrations, driving countless mobians from their primitive places to his new land to supplement the population there. He bided them not just to live off the land, but to use it. The silt from the floods of the river made the land rich, and he directed them to farm the crops he had gathered from the corners of the world. It took several generations, and countless lives, but it was done.

He ordered camps built around the quarries, and overseers taught in the methods he devised. Once starvation no longer became a problem, the slaves toiled, cutting through the earth for the stones that would built the First City, around which and for which they all lived and died. Mogul selected those who would be leaders of their people, and leaders in their proper tasks. He ordered that events were to be recorded, and a system of writing developed to hand down the one common language to all.

Centuries passed by, and the city began to take form.

The inner wall, the First Wall, built of massive andesite stones fitted closely together and without mortar, was soon finished. Marketplaces developed, and smaller supporting cities also grew up nearby. Bronze was cast in vast amounts, as the thick forests fed kilns and blacksmiths that belched black smoke. Mogul watched, with pride, as wheeled carts eased the burdens and made his dreams come closer to fruition. Without even his bidding, the people worshipped him as a god, and temples of stone rose in his name and his honor.

In time, there came lieutenants.

As his dream became fulfilled, Mogul wished to separate himself from day to day affairs. His normal army of Bureaucrats was not suitable for long term management, he foresaw, and so he made the decision to elevate others to a status near his own. Over the centuries, his armies had marched to many primitive lands, and merchants and travelers from places even he knew little of came to his First City. He had six of what would later come to be known as the seven mobians Chaos Emeralds, when he met Rhadamanthus.

He had been an exile, and a half breed: his mother kitsune, his father lupine. Banished for the strange powers he was able to harness, and which the kitsune distrusted, Rhadamanthus finally traveled south to offer his services to the multiethnic First Army. In time, his skills brought him into the Palace Guard, until he became Captain of that unit. With a keen mind, Rhadamanthus stood out from his fellows. He understood mathematics, law, philosophy, metallurgy, architecture, the intricacies of maps and surveying, and even the arts. One day, Mogul offered Rhadamanthus a special place of honor by his side, and the half breed swore an oath, called the _devotio_, to serve in life and death. In all his long centuries of service, Rhadamanthus never betrayed the trust Mogul put in him.

Later came the others, as even Rhadamanthus found himself hard pressed to service the organizational needs of the First City, Enoch. Through Mogul's eyes, he saw quiet Ignatius whose specialty was war, but who moved only when called to or when it was necessary. Yet, when Ignatius was called to war, his was the gift of speed, and he marched and fought with great speed and skill. Then there was brooding Ysbadadden, who spent so many years plotting the stars, and dwelling on theoretical matters. He and Rhadamanthus were counterparts, but like night and day in their pursuits and tasks.

Those were the first three, and they had served well. So well, that Mogul felt no qualms about retreating from his duties entirely, to indulge himself and live in the ease and leisure he had never imagined before the rise of the civilization he had brought. Beautiful and delicate Elishiva was the next to be given an Emerald, but it split her mind and gave rise to Sekhmet. Miles was struck by the similarity – from Mogul's memories, Elishiva was almost a carbon copy of Rouge! He had difficult imagining her as the Two Faced God, and the Mad God of Enoch, yet Mogul's memories could not lie.

She was the beginning of the end.

Elishiva did her duties, yes, but in her wake lesser personalities were gifted as Acolytes. There was strange and mercurial Saffire, who both Elishiva and Rhadamanthus hated for different reasons… then there was Mulciber, who as much as conned his way into the group. Mulciber was only representative of a darker side, a seedier and less seemly side of Enoch and the world that Mogul had built. In the darkness cast by Mogul's stone city, whispered prayers to Mulciber as God of Rogues should have alerted him to the danger. As it was, Mulciber seemed to keep 'his people' in check well enough, and Mogul had not a care in the world, even when it was voiced by loyal Rhadamanthus.

Then: Reptilian.

Then: The Devourer.

He had not seemed harmful or even particularly noteworthy at first. All six Acolytes had their own sets of priests and hopefuls with minor chaos abilities. It was expected that, eventually, one would be chosen from then all to be the next Acolyte. By this time, Mogul had almost all of the world's Chaos Emeralds, and he was willing to part with one or two of the smaller ones, that he would later learn 'belonged' to the Merlin entity. Reptilian had been Elishiva's… or had he been Sekhmet's? Almost certainly the latter, given The Devourer's cruel and evil nature.

Oh, how the world had burned.

Treacherous Mulciber and Saffire had sided with The Devourer when his true powers became manifest soon after Merlin's Emeralds rejected him. The Devourer was the most powerful Chaos Adept Mogul had ever seen. Centuries later, even after battling the 'Super' forms of Sonic, Knuckles and Tails, they never inspired in Mogul the sheer terror and dread that wrapped around The Devourer like a cloak. The world was put to the torch in the wars that followed, and civilization cast down.

Great Enoch, the First City… his dreams given form…

Miles saw as he massive city trembled in the grip of earthquakes, before a great flood washed it clean. He couldn't imagine how many had to have been killed in the disasters that toppled Enoch and buried it and the surrounding lands in the sea. Millions, without a doubt. Miles felt, to his amazement, great sorry and sadness in Mogul at the memory.

Mogul had seen civilization rise, and he had seen it fall, and in the end it left him a broken shell of his former self. His people, his kind, had been exterminated in the wars. Mogul had seen fields full of their bodies, and neatly organized pyramids of their skulls. His kind no longer walked Mobius, and never would again. Millions of lives, thousands of years of history, existed in Mogul Alone.

No where else.

And Miles understood.

* * *

The two bodies washed up on a beach, half in and half out of the cold, salty water. One was black and red with burns, his thick skin a clammy ruin. He was large in size, but not unnaturally so. The tattered remains of what may have once been ancient armor still slung to his still body.

Nearby, another body lay half in and half out of the surf. A black and green wreath of seaweed hugged the smaller, leaner form. It was not burned, but heavily and visibly bruised. One the arms looked dislocated at the shoulder, and welts and bloody wounds ran across the chest and the right leg. It was face up, but perfectly still.

Until:

Miles spat up water and bile, and slowly opened his eyes. The sun he saw, was starting its descent towards the horizon. The clouds here painted a mosaic of colors as he moved, oh so slowly, across the heavens. Nearby, he heard something move.

He didn't need to look.

He knew who it was.

* * *

Nail's vision blurred as he tasted the rusty tang of his own blood. The spray of crimson from below his chin barely stood out against the color of his typical echidna coloring, but if one looked closely it was clear that he wore his own blood like a jagged tie down his torso. He arced lazily through the air, and hit the ground, rolling for a dozen feet before coming to a stop.

"W… what…" he said, the rest unable to leave his tortured throat.

'…hit me?' he wondered.

"Hmmm…?" Knuckles intoned softly, as if amused. "Looks like I hit you a little too hard. Are you going to die on me already?"

Twenty paced away, Knuckles' body smoked lightly, the wispy clouds rising from his body like backlit flames. Sharp mauve eyes glowed with inner power, but despite the amused tone, Knuckles wasn't smiling. He opened his closed his right hand, slowly, and craned his look to stare at the gloved digits, and the speckles of blood that adorned them.

"You'll… have to forgive me…" he said, and lowered his guard. "I'm having trouble holding back. I've having trouble… wanting to…"

Nail struggled to get up, and hacked up, his bruised throat convulsing.

Lara was shaking her head. "How…?"

How had Knuckles walked right through Nail's chaos energy attack? How had one blow, where Knuckles had simply grabbed Nail's neck and backhanded him, how had that laid Nail out so completely? While she didn't know the full extent of Nail's powers, she thought that she had a good enough grasp of them, and she knew for sure that he was physically more durable than she was. Still on his hands and knees, Nail held the side of his face, where a wound was purpling darkly.

Plainly struggling, Nail suddenly shot his right arm out and fired another blast of energy. It streaked through the air and came within inches of Knuckles' face, before the other echidna grabbed (grabbed!) the ball of chaos energy out of the air. Holding it in his right hand like a baseball, Knuckles closed his fist, and snuffed the energy out with a sound like a dropped light bulb.

Lowering one hand from his face, Nail shook with rage. Taking a step back, the clone crossed his arms, and gathered more and more power. Soon, encapsulated in a nimbus of ruby red fire, Nail held wide his hands and began to move them in circular patterns through the air. Across from him, Knuckles watched with a detached look, his arms at his sides.

Then, Nail's hands began to make tiny flashes, and Lara quickly realized what he was doing. She began to run, and summoned her own chaos powers to her defense. Nail's specialties were really in energy projection, no doubt a result of the esoteric training Athair had put him through. Lara's own powers were, in her opinion, more brute force oriented. Using her mind, she could direct her power to invisibly exert force on other objects.

"Now what are you two up to…?" Knuckles asked, sparing her a glance over his right shoulder.

"NOW!" Nail shouted. "One Hundred Lights!"

"Oh?" Knuckles huffed.

Nail's hands continued to move, now just a blur. Then, suddenly, one ball of chaos energy shot out. Followed by three then five, then seven. Knuckles didn't even try to move; he simply held out his hands, and casually knocked away the first projectile. The next three, he clapped his hands together and shattered them in one move. The five, he splayed his hands apart, and knocked them away and to the side. Out of the seven, he deflected three. The middle one hitting his chest, but too weak to do much but annoy him.

Still, Nail persisted, and the deflected energy balls crashed into walls and supports in little green explosions of power. When the barrage became more than just an annoyance, and Knuckles became a little concerned that Nail meant to bring down the whole cavern, he stomped his foot, hard, and the ground shattered. A long crack snaked out in both directions, and caused Nail to lose his balance and stumble, his rhythm broken.

"I won't let you destroy this place… not just yet…" Knuckles held back his right fist, and cocked it in preparation to charge.

Nail's eyes narrowed and Knuckles saw something in them…

'Behind me?' He whirled around, but not fast enough. Lara was behind him, and between her hands she held what must have been two dozen, no: three dozen of the little energy balls, all conglomerated into a blazing, barely contained sphere the size of volleyball. The former Guardian sneered, and barely managed to bring up his right hand to intercept it, just before Lara would have buried it into his left armpit.

Lara pushed up with all her physical and mental strength, Nail's energy straining to bursting between her fingers. Already, it was starting to leak out of her mental containment of it, and the miniscule amounts were singeing her fingers. Knuckles had all the animation of a statue in his posture, though his right hand trembled, and his eyes were suddenly large and feral. All at once, his glove burned away, becoming a cloud of black smoke in a heartbeat.

"You….!" Knuckles quickly took a step back and pivoted, so that Lara stood in front of him instead of at his side. Still, he held her and the energy attack at half arms length, his arm taunt but unyielding.

'So… strong…?' Lara started to work her legs, pushing against him with all the energy she could muster. The energy ball began to distort between their hands, first becoming less like a sphere and more like an oval, and then the color itself began to change from red to burgundy to garnet to almost pure black.

"Why fight me?" Knuckles asked, looking at her intently. "What does he have on you?"

Lara-Su growled at what he implied. "Nothing!"

"Someone has bound you in their service…" Knuckles explained, and his eyes became, if anything, more vicious. The rest of him, however, seemed unaffected. "Someone is using you. Are you going to be a tool all your life? Is it what you were born for?"

"S… shut up!" Lara's fingers felt like they were on fire. Still, she pressed forward, her boots squeaking loudly against the ground in a noble effort to get one more iota of traction behind them.

"You… you're not quite like that clone. He's always been a tool. He can never be like you and me, who were born free, no matter how much he talks. Break your chains and become like me." Knuckles offered her a small smile. "Freedom is for those with the power to use it."

A part of Lara, to her own revulsion, could see the rightness of what he was saying. Was she… how much freedom did she have? How much did she ever have? Could it be, was it possible, that her father was right? A look into his manic eyes, juxtaposed with his apparently calm exterior, made her wonder if anyone or anything was truly ready for that kind of freedom.

"I can't… throw it all away…" Lara said, and smiled back. "I won't be alone for the rest of my life!"

"Alone?" Knuckles asked, his stony expression wavering slightly.

"Alone! If freedom means you can never put yourself on the line, never suffer for anyone else… I'd rather be a slave! A slave to those who care for me and those I care for! That's how I've always lived! That's… that's why I came here…!"

Watching and hearing the confrontation, Nail stood on uneasy legs.

"Lara…" he whispered.

Set into a half rebuilt body seated atop the Master Emerald, one golden eye watched with hate and tangible, oppressive malice. Under that gaze, and unaware of it, Knuckles sneer returned, and grew until his upper lip curled. Without warning, his left hand shot up and joined the right. Lara barely saw it, before her world exploded.

The shockwave knocked Nail off his feet and flat onto his back.

Lara, meanwhile, felt nothing until her back hit the cavern wall, where she became momentarily imbedded; her body spread eagle. Her lower lip trembled, and the cracks in the wall behind her deepened and gave way. She fell to the ground amid three tons of formerly solid stone. Knuckles stood in the same spot, seemingly unhurt except for the palm of his right hand, streaked as it was by lines of light red and black.

Nail began to feel despair creep up.

Knuckles had become powerful… amazingly powerful. How, Nail couldn't begin to imagine. His list of options was essentially exhausted. Energy attacks had proven to be useless, when they should have been effective. From that blow he's suffered earlier, Nail didn't dare get in close and trade blows. Even a mental attack wasn't viable. Nail wasn't as familiar with Knuckles mind, and he hadn't spent hours getting to understand his thought processes. If a mental attack backfired, it would effectively be a self-inflicted lobotomy.

"W… what is this…?" Knuckles was staring at his hands, shock and curiosity warring for dominance on his face. A green band of energy rippled down his fingers, up his arm, and down his body. Then another, and another.

"Is this… Is this my true power…?" Knuckles asked, though it was unclear who he expected to answer. "Is this natural? Or some sort of…"

He never finished his sentence.

The pile of rubble that had apparently buried Lara exploded outward, and the echidna girl emerged, her clothes ragged and torn, and blood flowing freely down her nose and mouth. Eyes closed, she roared defiance and held up her hands. Tendrils of chaos energy lanced out, lifting chunks of rock to float eerily in the air.

"You…" She opened her eyes, and looked right at Knuckles. "I would have done anything to save you…"

"I do not need saving…" Knuckles hissed. "I will not be chained down by anyone… never again! If you want to save me, girl, you'll have to beat me first!"

Lara screamed, and the floor and walls of the cavern all around her rose up and shot forward like a tidal wave. Some pieces rolled along the ground, others bounced, and others flew. Knuckles, seeing the approaching onslaught, growled and charged. His fist immediately found the largest and closest boulder, and shattered it in a single blow. He leapt, avoiding two boulders coming in from the sides, smashed apart another wall of granite, flipped, and jumped off yet another.

Where he was hit in midair by something brick red, and sent crashing into a tumbling rock. Knuckles snarled in rage, as it rolled over and took him with it, crushing him under the weight. A half second after the former guardian disappeared from view, the boulder exploded, and he leaped forward at Nail, who drifted back behind the cover of another flying rock.

Knuckles paused, eyes searching the frenzied scene around him.

He winced, as a blow to the kidneys jarred him, and swiped at the source of the attack. His fist, however, hit only lifeless stone. Nail was hitting and running, aiming for vulnerable points in the body. Again, he struck, and then retreated under cover. Boulders and stones were, by this point, flying in random directions, and he was the eye of the storm. Every so often, one would try and hit him and he would easily destroy it, but that would only make the cloud of debris worse.

After a swift kick to the hamstrings made him hiss in pain, he flexed powerful leg muscles, and jumped. He had never been a good jumper before, but he could feel himself gaining more and more height. Jumping off a boulder, and then a pillar, and then an outcropping, and then another, he quickly found himself hanging from the ceiling, his fingers giving him purchase by digging right into the rock.

Looking down, he saw Lara looking right back up.

And he snarled, pressing off the ceiling and shooting down like a meteor. Hastily, one boulder, and then another, interposed itself between him and his target. Knuckles smashed through each one in turn, and finally buried his fist into the ground where Lara had stood, only a moment before. The stalwart material of the cavern floor, which had survives so much in the past, broke like glass from the force of his blow.

He just barely saw Nail running in low and from the side, and Knuckles reached just fast enough to clip his clone with a swipe from his left hand. Nail jumped backwards, a thin trail of blood across his chest. Landing and almost slipping on a pile of pulverized rubble, Nail coughed blood and winced. Knuckles ignored him, and jumped at Lara. She held out her hands, and the air between them seemed to become dramatically denser.

It slowed him down, and forced him to miss, but it did not… could not… stop him. He landed on both feet, chest heaving more from excitement than exhaustion. Suddenly, he laughed, long and loud.

"If only Sonic could see this! Or Shadow! My power dwarfs them both!" The ripples of green energy ran up and down his frame, but now instead of provoking suspicion, they only filled Knuckles with a perverse satisfaction. "No limits! This is what Freedom truly is! There are no limits to what I can do!"

"Stop this!" Lara yelled, also landing on her feet. She, too, was breathing hard, but there was no point lying about it and even joking that she wasn't tired. She barely felt strong enough to hold herself upright, much less fight with this monster that was her father.

"It isn't too late…" She tried, still hoping that she could somehow get to him. Would telling him about the future change anything? Or would it only provoke him, or encourage him?

"You choose this path. I gave you the chance to walk away." Knuckles advanced on her. "Just because you're a cute girl doesn't mean I won't beat you down like any of my enemies. I know firsthand that women aren't to be underestimated…"

Lara could feel her own reserves scraping the bottom of the barrel. She took a step back, but raised her fists, for what meager defense they would provide. Then, behind Knuckles, she saw Nail. He seemed to be running… for the Master Emerald? Knowing that she had to act as a distraction, she gave a strangled cry and charged. Knuckles seemed surprised by the sudden change of behavior, but didn't immediately assume anything to be amiss.

Lara knew she was far from top form, even before she threw the first punch. Still, she would just have to make due. Her old sensei, one of her mother's friends named Espio, would expect nothing else. She swept her arms and flattened the palms of her hands, aiming for her father's throat, or the weak spots in the skull, near the sides of the temples. He blocked her blows easily, but grunted when she nailed him in the family jewels.

The force of the blow she had landed, and its particular placement, caused him to stumble. Lara felt a moment of mixed triumph (did she just kill her own chances of being born?), but there was precious little time to worry about existence, especially after she saw the murderous look in his eyes. She set herself, and braced for his next attack. She knew that if it landed, if even one blow got solidly through her defenses, she'd barely know she'd just lost the fight, and her life.

Nail tried to put aside his worries about Lara.

The Master Emerald was his true objective and if he was lucky, also the source of Knuckles' power. It had to be! As he got closer, he looked up and noticed that the great golden eye within the half complete body had focused its attention on him, and him alone. He shuddered involuntarily, and pressed onwards, even as he felt a force creep into his mind. It felt inky black, like seawater from the deepest, darkest pit, and as he got closer it became stronger and stronger.

Nail's own mental defenses were formidable, to which his former student could attest. Yet this presence, this alien entity, continued to encroach on the sanctuary of his mind. His gait slowed, just outside arm's reach of the Master Emerald.

"You cannot approach me."

Nail's legs seized up, the muscles refusing to follow orders.

"You cannot approach me."

His arms felt like lead weights.

"Pawn of Malachi!"

Nail's fingers flexed, and then froze up.

"Now: Die."

The word reverberated in Nail's skull a thousand fold, drowning out all other thoughts. His lungs clenched so tightly he couldn't take in air, and his heart stopped beating. The command was so strong, so forceful, so overwhelming… He saw a light, a bright light…

And, by pure luck, he fell forward.

And his right index finger brushed the Master Emerald.

He saw a face, Athair's face, and a new resolve washed over his mind and soul. With a jump in his chest, his heart restarted, and his lungs sucked in fresh air. He felt Athair, the old echidna's power, weak but still full of determination, reinvigorate his spirit. He finally understood what Merlin's plan meant, and how it could work. In an instant conference of minds, he and Athair set themselves on a plan of action.

Nail felt another presence, like Athair's but unknown to him.

He stood, turned, and ran in the opposite direction. "LARA!"

Lara flipped over Knuckles' head, avoiding another furious but not unpredictable blow. He was growing frustrated, and sloppy, but he still had a ridiculous strength behind his blows. She knew, all to well, that she couldn't hurt him, which meant that he only had to wail away, and eventually she would get tired or make a mistake. Lara heard her name as she pondered this, and saw Nail heading in her direction.

But why?

She hit the ground and gracefully back flipped towards him. By the time she landed, he was there, and without warning he grabbed her hand. Some… thing… flooded into her. It was like a second set of thoughts, a second spirit, and second will… Gateways in her mind opened, and experiences and thoughts rushed through her like a deluge.

"You're still not strong enough…" she heard Nail warn.

"I… I don't have to be…" Lara looked up, and closed her eyes. "I'll need a little time."

"Time?" Knuckles roared, barreling towards them. "You're all out of time! You're both dead! DEAD!"

Nail rushed in front of her, and Knuckles hissed in annoyance as he cut his charge short. The clone had swung for him, and he had decided to ignore the blow, turn, and strike at the more annoying female of the pair. Knuckles feet, however, left the ground as Nail's strike connected. Stunned, and a little hurt, Knuckles reached up to rub his jaw.

Nail hadn't hit that hard before.

Knuckles growled, low in his throat, and took a more careful step forward. Nail seemed to be dancing, rather than fighting aggressively, and Knuckles swung at him but the other fighter ducked out of reach. His frayed temper already snapped thanks to Lara's cheap shot earlier, Knuckles shifted onto the attack, and when Nail countered, he caught the blow.

"Got a second wind, eh…?" he asked, and began to crush the captured fist in his grip. "I guess I should stop playing around, and just kill you."

Nail tried to wrench his hand free, but it was like being caught in a bear trap. Knuckles elbowed his clone, and then picked him up ad slammed him into the ground like a rag doll. Knuckles let go of the hand and stomped down, but Nail rolled out of the way just in time. Knuckles snorted in vexation and lifted his foot out of the impression it had made in the ground.

"Neither of you can hope to defeat me. This was a suicide mission… especially for you." He watched Nail slowly get back up and smirked. "As if a copy could ever match the original…"

Then, to Knuckles' surprise, instead of Nail getting into any sort of fighting position, he began to back off. And then, he broke into a run for the Master Emerald. And so did the echidna girl. Assuming they were running from him, he cracked his knuckles and chuckled, walking leisurely towards them.

At the same time Lara and Nail ducked behind the Master Emerald, down abandoned halls, up a dozen stories, and in another wing of the Haven Complex, one of the control rods in Haven's Main Reactor malfunctioned. Oddly, so did the second, which subsequently jammed in place. The third was hardly better off, half inserting itself before also getting stuck in a protrusion that, given the finely manufactured state of the technology and equipment, should never have been there in the first place.

Immediately, warning lights and indicators in the two primary Haven control centers went off. There was, however, no one to heed them, and nothing the automated computer systems could do. As magnetic containment for the fusion nuclear reactor began to fluctuate outside the safety margins, caught in an unfortunate and unforeseen cascade of systems failures, evacuation orders and warning announcements blared over what was left of the Haven Facility, and rooms were automatically flooded with ignition and radiation retardant foam.

Such was the magnitude of the failure, that plasma jets almost immediately began to burn through the reactor housing, as pressure built up inside, and containment failed. Hundreds of feet away, separated by distance of almost solid rock, Knuckles was completely unaware of the ticking time bomb that Haven had become. He noticed, however, when failure reached absolute critical levels and the bright flash that vaporized or melted half of the upper quarter of Haven shook the walls and rained destruction from above. It was only a prelude.

He had time only to avert his eyes upward, and wonder. "What the hell…?"

And then the deeply buried backup antimatter storage units released just a fractional amount of their contents deep underground, their own safety systems also sabotaged. Beneath the Emerald Chamber, the ground groaned, heaved, and erupted like the birth of a volcano.

* * *

It's no longer a matter of technique.

I stagger on that sandy, gold and crimson beach, and wipe stinging sweat and blood from my brow. My legs feel weak, and my arms weigh a thousand pounds, but I move forward and swing. My left arm, which I had to pop back into its socket, shoots fresh pain up the back of my skull. Arms and knuckles protest in a lightning bolt of pain, but Mogul's head snaps to the side, blood and a loose tooth flying slowly through the air.

It's no longer a matter of strength or skill.

Mogul grimaces, but stands. With a grunt, he sends a concrete hard fist into my guts, and it feels cold and numb, like my lower body is nothing more than lukewarm spaghetti. Something inside me moves, and then it hurts and my eyes get a little dark. My left foot slips on something wet and hot, but I keep my balance.

We've left all that behind, Mogul and me.

Mogul swings again, and I want to dodge, but nothing in my body, fake as it is, works like it's supposed to. My left arm raises in meager defense, but Mogul has momentum behind his attack, and it connects soundly with the side of my face. The broken and split flesh there takes the blow predictably, and one of my eyes falls under a veil of red.

Left it all behind in a watery grave.

Our world is white.

I snarl, and one eye closed, strike back. Fake high, hit a little lower, and Mogul grunts again as I hit his left ear. He twists, holding his hand up to the wound, and I see that one of my knuckles' managed to tear at some of the cartilage there, leaving a jagged and messy wound. Mogul takes a step back, and I do likewise.

And what's left?

What's left for us?

I blink my eyes, hard, and try to concentrate on standing. The blood stained beach and the twilight sky seem equally far away, and my breaths come in ragged gasps. The lull gives the opportunity for my injuries to reacquaint me with the meaning of agony, and what passes for my body cries for a respite. It wants to sleep, it wants to heal, and it wants to give up. Just a few feet away, I see Mogul struggle with the same problem. He's a mess, too, with fewer internal injuries, but burns over most of his body. I know that his every movement is like rubbing sandpaper into an open wound: a symphony of torment.

What's left for us, now?

What are we fighting for?

There are no words between us. None are necessary. After reliving each other's lives, after that sort of understanding, nothing need be expressed in simply words. No, what remains, what haunts Mogul's eyes and my own, is the vision of that bright and beautiful city, buildings stretching into the sky and beyond the clouds: a marvel and a monument. What haunts us are the two beings who look out at the city, side by side, with pride in their accomplishments. What haunts us is that one moment that could have been, but never had a chance…

Mogul has tears in his eyes.

And there are tears in mine.

'What we could have accomplished together…!' His eyes seem to plead, in the fading light. 'What we could have done!'

'We could have saved the world. We could have rebuilt it all…' I know what he sees in my eyes, as well.

'We both knew it in each other… we both saw it. But that one moment… That one moment…' The two pairs of eyes locked, unblinking. 'Was forever out of reach…'

Mogul takes a step forward, swings, and my head snaps around. I adjust my footing, and my fist finds his left eye. Puss and blood stain that hand, but there is little time to think of anything but the fight, the will to survive a blinding light making anything else impossible to see. An overhand hammer blow hits my left shoulder, which had been dislocated earlier, and the joint screams in pain. Mogul hisses, as a backhand tears across the front of his face and breaks what's left of one of his tusks.

It goes on.

For what seems like hours.

Back and forth, up and down that beach, our bodies a bloody and broken mess of spent flesh and dried blood. Splotches of it cover the ground and wash into the sea. When one of us falls, he gets back up, and it starts again. Neither of us are strong enough to land a decisive blow, so we chip away, bit by bit, at each other's lives.

Why?

"Last night I had a dream, Tails. About the future. The war was over, and there was peace all across the world. We were all in the Palace, and we were all so happy. After so long…" Sally smiled beatifically, and leaned her head on top of his in what he knew to be one of her hugs. "After so long… we were happy and we were home. No matter how bad things get, Tails, this world is worth saving. Sometimes, when things are hard, we forget that this world will have a brighter future…"

Sally… you gave me a dream.

My lower lip splits from Mogul's glancing blow, but I land a mostly solid strike between his eyes. I hit him again while he's stunned, in the same spot, and then a third time, harder than before. My pinkie finger feels like its broken, and I wonder when that happened, but it doesn't matter. Mogul spits blood, his nose broken at the base of his trunk.

"I never give up!" Sonic smiled, cocky and self assured, giving his new friend a hearty thumb up. "No matter the odds, I never give up, and neither should you! No matter what you do, Tails, put all your heart and soul into it, and always strive to be the best! Don't hold anything back!"

Sonic… you gave me hope.

Mogul roars, his body shaking, and he lunges. A low blow to the kidneys doubles me over, but I don't fall back. I step forward with what strength I can still summon, and slam my forehead into his with a resounding crack of bone on bone. My entire world fills with stars, and through them I blurrily see Mogul shaking his head. Then he moves, and our heads collide once again. I can't see anything now, but I can feel his breath, and I know he's just in front of me. Blindly, I shoot my forehead forward, and hit something slightly softer – probably the remains of his nose. As one, we fall back onto the bloody sand.

"Half ah me isn't evah gonna be normal, an' it's a struggle sometimes… when you wonder who you are an' what you are…" Bunnie was wan, as she sometimes was when he interrupted her occasional pensive mood. "But I'll be ok, Tails. Don't worry about little ol' me. Ya have ta play with tha cards ya' dealt, an' ah like ta think we all have what makes us special for a reason, even if they seem like a burden sometimes."

Bunnie… you were like a sister to me.

"This is great work, Tails! I couldn't have done better myself! Do you want to help me with something?" Rotor spoke so frankly, so honestly. "I could really use your input."

"Normally… I would not want to be tze one going into such a sit-u-ation," Antoine took a deep breath and closed his eyes, mustering the courage that always hid under his surface. When his eyes snapped open, they were filled with resolve, even though his body trembled with nervous fear. "But tze Prinzess ees in danger! Are you ready, mon ami? Good. Then we go!"

"Sonic's a lost cause. He doesn't know what it means…" Knuckles was introspective, his back to Tails. He raised a fist under his jaw, his body tense. "I have a _responsibility_…!"

"I'm going to help Sonic! I don't know how I can help…" Amy gritted her teeth. "But I have to do something! I have to try!"

I see Mogul roll over, and start to push himself onto his knees.

"I love you," Fiona said, one of her hands gently resting on his right arm. She was on the operating table, and he had opened her chassis to install the new gift he was giving her. He was wrist deep in her abdomen, and much of her was splayed out on the table next to her slim waist. He looked away from his operation, and into her eyes – so real! So real!

"I love you…" she said again, and he knew she meant it. "Before this. After this. Forever. My darling Miles…"

Painfully, he rolled over, propped up on one knee and one foot. Almost there!

Rouge, her eyes wide as he made love to her, her hands moving over his shoulders and into his cheekfur. There were no words, only soft sounds and the language of the body. He didn't worry what they meant to each other, or how it would change things. All that mattered was that moment of singing completion, and the feeling of warmth and purpose that he felt in her.

I see Mogul slam his fist into the ground, the hand coming back encrusted with red speckled sand. He's slowly rising, black eyes wide and wild and full to overflowing with the dauntless desire to take just one more breath: for himself, and for the millions only he will ever remember. Those millions who served him… They are his strength, and they would move his body long after his flesh was torn to ribbons, his skin flayed away, and his bones broken. Mogul roars again, deep and low, his mouth foaming.

"Get up, boy!" Tempest looked down at him. "Don't you want to live? Don't be on the ground when an enemy stands over you. GET UP!"

"Concentrate!" Nail barked. "Concentrate harder!"

Athair pursed his lips in apparent thought. "Welcome back to the land of the living… Chosen One…"

"He is already dying, Miles. I…" A bright light interrupted his mother. Slowly, she blinked again, and looked down at the hole cut through her chest. Turning, two more flashes of light filled the air, and she fell to the side without a sound, her sword falling from dead fingers. Three golden holes in her chest, burned into his memory and subconscious.

"Miles!" Amanda yelled, trying to get his attention. "Be careful!"

My ankle twists, and I hear a low groan of agony come from deep inside me. The looseness of my muscles, the lethargy in my body… I can barely move. I died once…

"Don't tell me you're having second thoughts, foxboy." Super Shadow stopped clapping, and took a step forward. "This isn't your first taste of this world's cruelty…"

Robotnick laughed, as his hoverpod flew away and out of danger, a big mad smile on his face. He held out his hand, and flashed Sonic and Tails the one finger salute, visible even from the distance between them. He yelled, just to make sure they heard his defiance, "You little bastards will never defeat me! Never! I only have to win once!"

Drool runs down my chin and onto my chest, heaving savage breaths as I get back on my feet. Mogul stands opposite me, and I know this is it: the last moment. This is the last of our strength and determination, thrown one last time into that world of pure and brutal white. This… is the end of one of our lives. I know it with every fiber of my being, and every instinct I've been born with.

"Goodbye…. Miles…" Mogul manages to say, curling fingers into fists.

"Goodbye…" I reply, through mauled lips. "Mogul."

Everyone…

One last step, taken at the same time, and it is all over. I hit Mogul cleanly in the neck, but I don't really feel his blow, buried as it is deep in my torso. The air, our bodies, are still crackling with the residual energy of the Chaos Judgment attack I used before. Our hands still at each other's vitals, Mogul and I both flex our remaining power, struggling for a killing blow, the effort like swimming up a waterfall. Everything suddenly seems to quiet. So peaceful.

For a moment, I wonder if I'm dead.

And then, I hear Mogul try and say something. His jaw moves, and a long stream of blood runs out instead of coherent words. Beneath my fingers, I feel bones break. Mogul slumps, and I catch him as he falls forward. With the last of my strength, I lower his bulk to the ground and try to preserve as much of his dignity as possible. He looks up at me with glassy eyes, and I can see the life fading out, bit by bit.

Amazingly, his mouth still moves, and I lean closer to try and hear.

"It's all… yours… now…" I hear it, and then: nothing.

Those were his last words.

Carefully, I close his eyes. The residual chaos energy that clings to me from my own attack gives only last stinging tingle, and dissipates. Mogul's still body, however… it burns away, and can feel the tears running down my face. I never thought I'd feel this way, but in the end, he and I became closer than brothers. Closer than kin.

"I won't forget…" I say, though I know he is beyond hearing me. "I'll remember for both of us. You'll see… the world I'll build…"

And, on that nameless beach, I watch as Mammoth Mogul finally returns to the dust, his ashes scattering with the wind into the surf and the sea. I sit there, alone, and I don't know how much time passes. What I do know, what I realize through everything else, is who I am and what I'm doing. I couldn't give Mogul a swift death, like I promised, but if all that pain let me understand him, I would pay it myself a dozen times over. I am not Na'Turo, I am not Prower, and I am not Tails. I was all of them, but I am always Miles!

Everyone…

All those who live…

I'm not fighting for you… I'm fighting because of you!

* * *

Angel Island

"This is Condor one-one-six, beginning approach to target area."

The hovercopter adjusted its flight pattern, the pods on its sides swiveling to allow the maneuver. The fan blades in the tail assembly also swiveled marginally as it swooped in lower, like a bird or prey. It slowed, and the sides folded back. Two observers stuck their heads out – they had helmets on protecting their ears and goggles over their eyes enhancing their sight.

Below them, they could see a crater scarring the landscape.

It was only the worst of numerous wounds to the area. Elsewhere, there were smaller craters, slashes and breaks in the ground, and places that seemed to have suffered from landslide. Even at a distance, some of the smaller craters looked almost like… footprints. But that was, of course, impossible.

"We are over the area where the seismic disturbance was recorded," the pilot announced. It was both for those on the aircraft, and for those listening back at HQ. "It looks pretty bad. Like an underground mine collapsed or something. No sign of enemy activity. No corpses."

"Hold on!" One of the observers called out. "I see something! Lower! Take us in lower!"

A few seconds later…

"I see him! One body! Echidna."

A handful of minutes later…

"Is this who I think it is? What's the Guardian doing out here?"

"He's in critical condition!" A pause. "Pulse is very weak! We're taking him back to HQ! Tell the pilot to radio for a medical team! The best they've got!"

…

Only a few hours later…

A solitary figure, weary and nearly broken, stood over the ruins of what had once been the Haven of the Brotherhood of Guardians. He waited there for a short time, looking, searching. Eventually, he found it, and began to dig with his bare hands. Even with them, great mounts of rock and dirt are easily excavated, of the sort one would expect from a steam shovel. Finally, he stopped, and stood straight.

Miles looked down into the small pocket of air, carved out of the blasted ground, and at the two occupants. Both looked worse for wear, and a little claustrophobic, but definitely alive, given the relieved looks on their faces. He examined them closely, and then offered his hand to help them up. Lara took the offered assistance first, and he noted the melancholy not only in her eyes, but that he could feel through their … connection, for lack of a better word.

He had feared, no: he had known that something like this would happen. Yet he had still sent Lara down into Haven, to face the inevitable failure history dictated she was to suffer. He marveled at his own cruelty, and how he justified it as being necessary, and maybe even right and proper in the pursuit of giving her closure. Then, he silently helped Nail out, his feelings for his former mentor mixed, even now. In Nail's other hand, however, he held something that made Miles smile wickedly.

The 'shrunken' form of the Master Emerald.

"Quite a mess…" he said, and started to walk away. Nail and Lara fell in behind him.

"That's an understatement," Nail grumbled. Lara was quiet, lost in her own thoughts.

"Tell me everything," Miles replied, and they knew he was speaking to both of them. "But first… let's head home."

A short distance away, he took their arms in his hands, and disappeared.

…

…

Cream felt Cheese shift on his perch atop her left shoulder. He was annoyed. It had taken too long. She couldn't Chaos Control, and he was annoyed. Because of that, she was annoyed, too.

Still, Cheese wasn't worried. She watched, as a mound of dirt in the crater rose, and broke open. A skeletal hand, only partly covered in flesh, rose out of the grave. Intermittent green scales stuck out of the barely formed dermis, and the fingers clawed deep grooves in the hard soil. Cheese laughed, and it was a sound that would have frozen the blood of great men.


	25. Tornado of Souls I

"You have it."

"Yes… It is in containment at the moment, along with the other three."

"That should serve, at least for the time being."

Lara-Su politely bowed her head, munching quietly on the moist crackers that their host had given them. Miles had eaten one out of formality, and then not given them a second glance. Lara, unlike her new benefactor, could still feel hunger, and the crackers were actually very tasty; quite unlike anything she had tasted before, actually. They tasted of cinnamon, an exotic spice that had a mildly addictive effect on mobians. Keeping this in mind, she ate and listened while the two entities before her conversed, more like business associates than beings of unfathomable power and influence.

Reaching for another round cracker from the black lacquer saucer, she briefly looked around for anything suspicious. The warm country house seemed completely benign to her normal senses, though a certain something gave the walls and decorations an almost ethereal quality at times. Probably it was the lightning, but given the company of those she sat within arm's reach of, nothing was beyond the realm of possibility.

Or: almost nothing, it seemed.

Merlin cupped his chin in his right hand, his eyes closing slowly. He had a grave expression on his face, and given what Miles had told her about Merlin himself, this did not bode well in a global sense. Opposite him, Miles seemed like his normal self: his wounds gone and his face impassive. Lara knew better, however. She could feel it, if not see it, through their special connection. Miles was weaker than she had feared; the energy within him still at a critically low point. His body, she knew, was only a façade, but the battle with Mogul had wounded him deeply in many ways.

"What can we do now?" Miles asked stern midnight blue eyes boring into his ancient predecessor. Lara wondered what his eyes and face had looked like when he was younger, or at least more carefree. Had he smiled and blushed and been something or someone she could relate to? She was older than he, ignoring the time travel thing, but sometimes she felt like the wide eyed child in the relationship. Hell, she always did.

His upper lip curled in distaste. "We have the Master Emerald, but no way to properly deal with it. If dumping it into the sun will only make it reform, maybe we should just launch it into deep space?"

"Distance will not diminish the connection between an Emerald and its Master. What you propose would inconvenience us more than the Devourer."

"So we must rely on a… supernatural," Miles said that word with obvious dislike. "Solution? That doesn't seem feasible anymore, does it?"

Merlin sighed, and ran his hand over his throat. "I anticipated that The Devourer would see through to my scheme. It is… a shame that my precautions were not sufficient…"

* * *

The Aurorium was a forest of pillars, surrounding a central faux courtyard. Statues and running water decorated blue and green tiled pools around the main shrine itself, set beneath a perpetual night sky formed by six overlapping domes. This was the Inner Shrine, and the Sanctum of the Aurorites, well past the public areas of worship and the main grounds. 

Four dismembered bodies ruined the scene, lying on a pool of blood. By their stained and slashed vestments, they were shrine maidens. By their weapons: tall, flanged ceremonial spears, and more practically, high powered plasma rifles, they were obviously the maidens charged with the defense of the Sanctum. By their dead eyes and expressions, frozen in a single moment of shock, or in some cases fear, they had also obviously failed.

A single figure stood, cloaked by the shadow of a marble pillar.

Around the innermost shrine, the heart and soul of the Grand Aurorium, a small group of echidna priestesses remained. The most senior among them, the only one without an apparent weapon, stepped forward. In the light, her features became clear: she was of an indeterminate age, with a light red but darker than pink coloring. White markings ran down her dreadlocks, and silver etched bronze lames covered her collar and upper arms, sporting a glittering jewel in each piece. A white robe hung from the bronze works, running down to the female's cloth wrapped ankles and feet.

Her eyes blazed a vivid orange.

"Turn back, demon!" The High Priestess hissed, her voice clear and commanding. "You shall not be allowed to approach this Most Holy Place! Aurora Forbids It!"

The only reply was a step forward from the shadowed figure.

"Very well…" The Priestess pressed her hands together as if in prayer. "Those who hide in shadow… Can be buried in it as well!"

The very shadows themselves twisted and uncoiled like hungry serpents. The Nameless Priestess's shadow grew and flexed and split, tearing masonry and rending the air. The shadowy figure just smiled and crossed her arms, fingers curled like claws. It began without a sound, and then shadow and substance clashed in midair, with a sound like a thousand glass windows shattering.

* * *

"Yes. Without the Aurorium… without the Sanctum Shrine… how can we proceed?" Miles asked, his tone belying his displeasure with this turn of events. "The only other option is containment. And that will not work forever." 

Merlin eyes, now open, glittered without the need for any external source of light. "There is another way to summon Aurora. To make use of her as I intended."

"Oh?" Miles mused. "How are we to reach her if she is within the Deepest Dream? It is one step shy of Final Death."

"You are still so very young, for all that you know and suspect…" Merlin smirked. "I will both tell you and show you how to summon Aurora back from the Deepest Dream where she has lingered for all these centuries. Indeed, it is possible to bring back any willing chaos adept from that dead dreaming realm, if only for a time."

"How?" Miles asked, simply. He was skeptical, but interested.

"The key…" Merlin said, and reached for one of the small crackers. He nibbled on it, and then continued. "Is a sacrifice."

Miles eyebrows rose marginally.

The other fox's eyes had a suddenly dangerous look to them.

"Or, in this case, given the power of Aurora that we seek…" He paused, as if daring those present to guess. "A great, great many sacrifices."

* * *

**THE CYCLE OF AGES: A NEW WORLD ORDER**

**CHAPTER EIGHT:**

_**Tornado of Souls**_

* * *

He will rule them with an iron scepter; he will dash them to pieces like pottery. 

- Revelation 2:27

* * *

It had been several days since Lara had last seen him. Merlin had left to make 'perpetrations,' and so had Fiona. Nail had kept a close guard on the Master Emerald, despite it being in containment and isolation and Lara had occupied herself by growing more comfortable and familiar with the new source of her powers. 

It was through that training that she senses his unease.

His… anxiety. His fear. It made it harder to use her powers, and it made it harder for her to concentrate. It also worried her, deeply. Miles had yet to form a pocket dimensional haven like Merlin had, and instead remained grounded in his Gold Zero base. Pausing at his door, she thought again about turning back. He certainly hadn't come to her asking to talk, and she knew he had secluded himself for a reason. Was it really her right, her place, to barge in and interfere?

Lara reached up to her heart, and felt the small indentation in her collar where his ruby emerald fed her power and purpose. Touching it always reassured her, reminded her of how she wasn't alone, of how she was now a part of something special and greater than herself. It wasn't even the power that the gem gave, but rather the security and the care she felt, the bond between them. She was his, yet she would always have a part of him.

Her mother had never remarried (or to be exact, she had never married), so Lara had only a vague idea of what sort of partnership that relationship was. Miles had told her from the beginning that she was not his slave; that they were to stand together. Fiona, too, was a part of that cabal he was planning to assemble, but as his first Templar, Lara felt that she occupied a unique position, a favored position. If they really were all to stand together, if they did have a special bond, why should she hesitate to help him? Why should she be wary of knocking on his door?

"Miles?" she asked, softly, and knocked a few times. She was on the verge of repeating herself, when the door slid into the wall with a hiss. Inside was Spartan, but nothing seemed in disarray. Nothing seemed out of place. Looking again, she saw that she was wrong: there was one thing. The room had another door, one that shouldn't have been there, as far as she remembered.

Tentatively opening it, she saw a short stone corridor, and recognized the markings on it immediately. The relief's, and hieroglyphs, there were undeniably ancient dingo, though she had no idea what they meant. She stepped through the threshold, and felt the faint tingle that indicated a dimensional shift. So: he had created a sanctuary of his own, just like Merlin's. Or, perhaps, not like Merlin's. This just seemed to take her to another place on Mobius, on Angel Island even, not a pocket dimension.

Keeping walking, she saw the hieroglyphs, depicting scenes from the Carnivore War. There were also depictions of a burial procession, and repeated references to a dingo headed god figure holding a spear and the sun, the rays of which fell on prostrate worshippers. At the end of the corridor, it widened into a hall, and Lara could tell it led deeper down into the ground. Finally, it turned, and became part of a balcony that overlooked some of the buried ruins of Sandopolis. It was an amazing sight, an appropriate cousin to Marble Garden. She could see part of a temple complex, and the lower one third of a pyramid. A vast columned ceiling rose up and kept this part of the city unburied. The air was clean enough to breathe, however, and thankfully free of ancient corpses.

What was Miles doing here?

Lara continued forward, as the hall became straight, and then curved again, revealing another part of the same half buried temple complex. Now, however, she felt a shiver run down her spine. She turned around quickly, but never lost the eerie feeling that she was being watched. She remembered what Miles had told her about Sandopolis, and the ghosts there. It wasn't comforting.

The feeling only grew worse as she continued. There seemed to be a strange music coming from up ahead, like a voice, but without words or meaning. It was a haunting softly wailing sound, which came and went at a regular interval. In another place, she would have found it almost enchanting, but here, it frightened her. She came at last to a flight of steps, leading to a plaza with beautiful marble stones and columns. It was here that she saw him, and the source of her apprehension.

Miles sat, cross legged, in the center of the plaza, and around him whirled the intangible apparitions of hundreds, if not a thousand, dead souls. They twisted and turned and writhed like snakes, some just faded shadows, others pearly white, with vague features and open mouths. Miles' eyes were open, but he had no pupils, just a dead white where midnight blue should have been. She stood in awe and shock, and lost track of time, watching the dead circle him. One of the spirits came close, passed through her, and she felt a chill run along the length of her body, along with a single terrible memory: water. A tide of water, washing clean the world, and the banshee howl of Perfect Chaos.

"Lara…" he said, and she returned to the present. He was still sitting like before, but his eyes were back. He opened his mouth, made a loud exhaling sound, and the phantoms of Sandopolis faded away into invisibility.

"I'm sorry," he apologized, and stood up. "I didn't realize you were here."

"No, I'm sorry," Lara said and shook her head. "I… I shouldn't have come. I…"

"I'm glad you came," he added, cutting her off. She looked him with open surprise. "I didn't mean to worry you by leaving, and I do sometimes feel..."

He seemed to struggle with the right word.

"Isolated?" Lara suggested, knowing 'lonely' wasn't quite right. "What about Merlin?"

Miles sighed. "No. We work together, plan together, but I can never forget all he has done. All he is responsible for. I will never trust that… thing, calling itself Merlin. He lies to me, even now."

This came as a surprise to Lara, who thought the two were something like father and son. "I didn't know…"

"I've never been very social, Lara. I can't say I'm good at reading people's feelings. But I know what it is like to be used. And to use others. I can recognize it, even if I choose to embrace it for a time. But… I'm glad you came. I hope you can, eventually, be a bedrock for my sanity." He closed his eyes and smiled wanly. "I've been… struggling with Mogul's memories. His legacy. I don't want to be him or Merlin. I don't want this responsibility. And the things I will have to do… they make falling into madness appealing. Almost a mercy."

"Mogul had to be stopped…" Lara tried to sound consoling, and she walked up to him to hold his arm. "You know that."

"His responsibility, or what he thought his responsibility to be… I can understand it. I can feel it. Down to my bones. And now, his is mine. He existed so that the lives of millions would not be forgotten, would not be wasted or lost to time. After so many ages of life, are the only things to life for vengeance and tenaciousness? Is that all I have to look forward to?"

"They each found their own reason for living, Miles. Merlin. Mogul. Even the Devourer. You'll find your reason too." She saw that her words had given him something to think about, and smiled broadly.

"Isn't that a nice thought?" He finally asked, and nodded to himself. "Thank you, Lara."

"You're still worried, though. Still worried about what is to come. Why?"

"While I do not trust him, for the time being, I must follow Merlin's plans. He knows much more than I do, and the Devourer must be stopped. We both agree on that point. However…" Miles grimaced. "What he plans is terrible. I don't see another way, but it's… terrible. An atrocity. And I have to commit it, since he still considers it not worth risking revealing himself."

"What do you mean?" Lara asked, softly. "What are you two planning?"

"It will be like what I did at Knothole," Miles explained, in a roundabout way. "When I sent hundreds to die just to save time, just to bleed the enemy; that decision still haunts me, and now I will have to repeat it, and not for a great and common cause those who die consent to. No: this time, it will be a silent and secret thing they will die for. I really will be murdering them."

"Does this have to do with my father? Why we haven't struck at him while he is still recovering?"

"In a way, yes. I could have had him killed at only minor risk to myself. But… after Mogul…"

He looked up at the silent iconic columns, at the haunted remains of Sandopolis.

"I don't want to," he continued, with a weary tone. "I want to save him. The road before me will be paved with skulls, Lara, but I don't want to have to recognize any more of them than I have to. You want to know what must be done? I will tell you."

* * *

Sonic ran. 

Very few individuals knew the joy of it: the power, the freedom, the release that came from running. And only he had the pride that, when it came to this one thing, he was the best. In all the world, only perhaps Knuckles or Tails could have understood it. To his left, the railroad tracks were a blurred but almost solid line, and the green fields that surrounded him took one a hazy, dreamlike quality.

This was his dream world, and his personal sanctuary. For as long as he could remember, there had been a fire in his body – a burning, tingling, drawn out sensation that was only given release in an explosion of speed. After meeting others with the ability to use chaos energy, he began to develop a broader understanding of it himself. This was the core of his being. This was where his soul belonged: rocketing at hundreds of miles per hour over perfect open fields. Given this world, so close to heaven, how could existence at a walking pace compare?

It was better than sex.

Oh yes. It was. The ground felt immaterial at the speed he had settled into, and his every nerve filled with a pleasant, warm afterglow. It had always been this way for him, if not the others. Tails, he knew, took great joy in flying, and Knuckles felt release in physical conflict. For Sonic, his high was speed. And, best of all, it came so naturally to him.

Or it had.

Sonic's right hand still tingled with residual energy. The Power Ring had filled a void in him, and stoked fires that Sonic suspected were dying out. Ever since he had lost his precious blue Super Emerald, he had carefully hoarded as many of the Power Rings as he could get his hands on. In the past, it had seemed that Tails or Sally would always have one for him when he needed it, but now… now he knew that the supply was limited. If he wasn't careful, he'd run out, and if that happened…

Sonic suppressed a shudder that ran down his arms and legs.

He pumped his arms, and savored how they felt slow and heavy against the thick air in front of him and then how they slipped and were sucked backward in the other direction, all in turn. It was a sensation that was truly his alone. Though Tails and Knuckles could both accelerate themselves to high speeds, like those he was currently moving in, they didn't enjoy it. They moved through it; Sonic lived in it, his body and mind finely adapted to the strange and alien environment.

A train zoomed by in the opposite direction, little more than a coruscating series of colors and lights: flashes of metallic grey, blue and yellow. Sonic barely heard it. The tracks slowly swerved off to the north, but Sonic kept going west. He had thought about taking the train back it he opposite direction, to save energy but he hadn't wanted to be spotted at the station by any of the local officers of the law. He wanted this little trip of his to go largely unreported to His Majesty, the King.

And Sally.

He didn't want her to know either.

As much as he loved her, this was none of her business, but being her, Sally would just have to have something to say about it, and Sonic was in no mood for her lectures. She couldn't possibly understand the depth of his feelings for this aspect of himself. She would only chide him, and tell him to focus his energies on something 'productive' like learning how to be King. Or Regent. Or whatever. Sonic wasn't particularly interested. He was a hedgehog meant for adventure, not courtly procedures and matters of governance. Sally had to know that, and yet she persisted, as if the appeal of it could be drilled into him by rote.

Politics and nuance were not his specialties, and never would be.

Sonic felt himself decelerate, his momentum fading into the wind. It hit, suddenly, like a tsunami on a bright sunny day. His muscles corded up painfully, like rope wound too tight and strained to breaking. The pressure ahead of him became oppressive, and his lungs seized up. His legs kept moving, but his traction worsened, so that it was as if he was running on ice, and not turf. He knew what it was: the chaos energy that formed a barrier between his body and the air was developing cracks and fissures.

'So soon!' he wondered, aghast at the implications.

Hastily, he slipped his hand into the rucksack that hung from his shoulder and was also tied to his belt. His fingers slipped across the smooth surface of a Power Ring, his second of the day, and he grabbed hold. Willing it, he felt it dissolve and displace into his body. It took only a thinly sliced second for the energy to flood his body, and revitalize him. Sonic felt a wave of relief accompany the power, and he continued on his way.

A blue streak slashed across the green hills and into the Great Forest.

Here, he had to take it slower, but still made good time. On the way, he went over what he was going to say, how he was going to say it, and to whom. It wouldn't do for anyone… unnecessary to know about his problems. It also wouldn't do for anyone to hear about it who would likely spread the information. Not at all. Sonic didn't know what he'd do if that happened. He didn't even want to think about it.

He paced himself carefully, and felt the energy begin to wane as he made the approach to Knothole. At least now, with Robotnick dead, and the 'Eggman Empire' destroyed, he didn't have to take the obtuse and curving route that he normally did to keep the formerly hidden city of Knothole just that: hidden. He could head straight in. He ran, at a brisk pace, past Prower Lake – formerly Prower Crater, and now half full with water from the underground water aquifer.

Knothole had been heavily damaged in the last battle of the Eggman Wars. Aside from being shelled and shot halfway to hell, it had been flooded and bombed in many places. Many of the residents had left, but others had stayed, and yet others had moved in, and the rebuilding had begun even before the war was proclaimed to be over. The taller buildings were all damaged, many with upper floors blasted away, but many of the smaller structures were standing in one condition or another. Most of the rubble had been removed, bridges and dykes rebuilt, and roads opened up.

Sonic slowed, as he passed Knothole Cemetery.

Here and there, he saw individuals in black, moving to and from headstones and memorial tablets, paying their respects with prayers and burning incense. Sonic didn't normally like to dwell on the deceased, or their resting places. In his opinion, cemeteries were dark, and cold, and forbidding. He had run through the great tomb city of Sandopolis, and knew firsthand that being in the presence of the dead was not salubrious by any definition of the word.

Still.

Moving off course, he walked under one of the cemetery's black arching gateways. They were cast iron, and foreboding, even in the early afternoon. Entering from the east, and heading down one of the cobblestone walkways, he passed by row upon row of fresh graves made for the fallen of the Battle of Knothole, packed tightly side by side like sardines in a can. The mobian graves were all tablets, set into the ground, but the dingo ones were triangular and stuck out. Sonic remembered doing his part then, and had dug several graves himself, sweating in the sun under a sky cleared of trees. It only served to remind him of those unmarked graves, deep in the Forest where only he could find them…

He noted a family of dingo, standing silently over one grave: a female and two young children. They were stoic, like statues, but Sonic could see that they were holding hands. Elsewhere, another dingo in dress uniform stood before a grave and saluted. They, and others of their kind, had come a long way to pay their respects. Very few lived in the Kingdom of Acorn, and almost all had heeded the call to the New Territories Miles had promised them in return for their aid.

Sonic felt a little guilty, in that he still thought of the dingo as their some-time enemies. Knuckles had always run afoul of them, and while Sonic had never met any, he had already judged them and found them guilty: they were his enemies by default, and by association. Yet, they had come across the world, heeding a call to arms that the echidna had ignored. They had fought and died, perhaps not out of the goodness of their hearts, but all throughout that last battle, in every grave situation, he had never heard of them backing down, giving up, or doing anything but their sworn duty.

And he couldn't name even one of them buried out there.

Shaking his head, as he entered an older part of the cemetery, he silently wished that the war had been won some other way. So many had died, here and around the world. If only Robotnick had been killed on the first Death Egg, or even the Second one, or at any number of other times or places. If he had been faster, if Knuckles had been faster, if Tails had been faster… they could have ended it all, then and there. Instead, it came to this.

In this part of the cemetery, Sonic knew the names on more than a few of the tablets. He saw the grave of his old friend, Tommy, who sacrificed himself to save Sonic's life. Tommy had been one of those ordinary mobians, unremarkable in any respect. Perhaps, Tommy had given up his own life, sensing that Sonic was more important in the grand scheme of things? He hoped not. While Sonic was undeniably proud of himself and his accomplishments, he didn't want people to think he valued himself like that. Sonic would have given his life for his friend, for any of his friends.

Things just… never turned out that way.

Over in the Freedom Fighter section, he first saw the statue that dominated that section of the cemetery, erected in honor of the first Freedom Fighter killed in action: Private Scales. One of the last members of a now extinct mobian breed, Scales had been framed as a traitor, back when the first group of Freedom Fighters had organized, just after the coup. Sonic had only a vague memory of him, and didn't remember thinking anything remarkable about the purple snake at the time. But, when push came to shove, Scales not only cleared his name and saved his comrades (despite them all turning on him), but killed the Traitor as well.

The fallout, however, had been dire. The original FFs hadn't truly trusted each other, and instead of bringing them together, it only served to drive them apart. Scales had been accused and found guilty, based only on the word of the Traitor and the ill will towards his breed. That they had acted in such a way disgusted the survivors, and after only a few months they went their separate ways. One rallied the survivors of the Mobian Armed Forces, another founded the Knothole FFs, and another the paramilitary Secret Service.

The next group of Freedom Fighters had consisted of himself, Sally, Tails, Bunnie, Antoine and Rotor. Others had been inducted, but they had been the core. And unlike the originals, they knew and trusted each other implicitly. They had stuck together through thick and thin… though, as he thought about it, in the end, hadn't they drifted apart and turned on each other all the same? Bunnie, Antoine and Rotor had sided with Tails in making Knothole their battleground, while he and Sally stood in opposition. Before that moment, Sonic couldn't remember the last time the original FFs had been so divided.

Tails' obelisk stood near the Scales Memorial, and in the shadow of the two monuments yet more Freedom Fighters were buried. Most were young, just cadets, thrown into the fight over the last three years. A lot of them had died while Sonic was away in Station Square, and he wondered how many of them would have lived if he had stayed? Or even dropped by, once in a while? He saw a small group by one of the graves he didn't recognize, but focused his attention on another marker… one he hadn't visited since he left Knothole, months ago.

Amy Rose.

He touched his hand to the cold marble set into the soft ground, and offered a silent apology. He had known Amy for a long time, really, ever since he rescued her from Metal Sonic years ago, but he had never really _known_ her, not in the sense that he did Sally or even Bunnie. She had been obsessed with him, and followed him everywhere, even to Station Square. He had always considered her something of an irritant, but whenever he had rushed to her rescue, she had taken it the wrong way. He didn't love her. He didn't even know her. He had tried; he had really tried, to just be friends…

But Amy hadn't wanted to be friends.

Every invitation, every step in that direction, had been misinterpreted by the pink hedgehog girl. Maybe, just maybe, if he had met her before Sally there could have been something between them, but Sonic doubted it. Sonic liked a good race, but he didn't like being chased, and he especially hated to have his precious private time intruded on. All his friends understood this, why didn't Amy? For a while, near the end, Sonic had tried to get something happening between Tails and her, since he was fairly certain that his two tailed friend felt something for the girl, but in the end they never seemed to connect or even talk all that much.

Still, her death had hurt. Almost as much as…

He shook his head sadly, and realized that, at some point, he had at least gotten used to her being there. She had come in handy from time to time, especially when it came to keeping Chris distracted back at Station Square. She had become something of a fixture in his world, finding a place purely out of her own relentless tenacity, and occasionally… endearing… personality. Supposedly, Shadow had taken her to the Flying City of Helios, and she had perished, along with Tails, when it blew up. As an 'honorary' Freedom Fighter, she had been given an empty casket funeral in a place of repute.

He sometimes wondered if…

No. Enough of that. He wasn't here for regrets, or might-have-beens. As self assured as he was, Sonic knew that Tails hadn't been able to save her, and at the end the young kitsune had developed abilities Sonic knew he himself didn't possess. Still, he suspected that the actions of that day, one promise in particular, haunted him in ways he was just barely beginning to grasp.

He was about to walk away, passing by the memorial to his fallen partner in so many adventures, when he recognized one of the group of mourners nearby. She was wearing black, instead of her normally appealing panache, but he recognized the face behind the veil instantly. As he approached, the two male canines with her faced him, and Sonic saw bulky frames beneath cotton business suits, made in the human fashion. They were obviously hired muscle: bodyguards.

Mina Mongoose could afford it, now, he knew.

"Hey! Mina!" He called out, and she looked up at him with beryl blue eyes, fitting her mood. He saw them light up, just a little, at the sight of him, and he wondered if she still had that crush. He suspected it, but unlike Amy, Mina was content to compromise on the terms of their relationship.

"Sonic!" She took a few steps towards him, and the two embraced briefly. She was warm and (he had to admit) a little inviting, especially after his run to Knothole. Sonic was lucky in a sense, in that he didn't get sweaty from running. Instead, once it was over, he felt cold, and more than a little chilly, even when he knew it was warm and pleasant out. No doubt it was yet another strange artifact of his inborn chaos control.

"Mina!" he said again, and let her go to stand a more respectable distance from him. "What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be off making an album or something?"

She smiled, but shook her head in the negative. "I can't, even if I had the new material. The MPVD put me on probation, and the record company advised me to lay low, so…"

"I'm sorry to hear that. You know I love your singing. We all do," Sonic offered, meaning of course all his friends, if not all those he knew. Mina had a melodic singing voice, though she hadn't made a career of it until after the war was over. She had considered a position as a nurse to be more responsible, give the state of the fighting, and he knew she was extremely proud of how many people she'd helped to recover from their injuries during her tenure as a medic.

"It isn't my voice, it's my material…" She sighed softly, and faced the grave marker. "I wish Ash were here. Though I don't think he'd much like the peace we paid so much for."

"Ash?" Sonic asked, and craned his neck to look at the stone. It was a name and a date, not even an epitaph. Nothing to describe or give indication to a life snuffed out.

"You two never met... But Ash was my anchor for a time. After you and I…" Mina trailed off, and didn't pursue that little topic any further. "I was lonely, and he was just finishing his training. He didn't really want to fight, but he had such hopes for the future… I think he was just impatient to see them come true. I met him in a coffee house, here in Knothole, and we… hooked up. I think I loved him…"

"I'm sorry," Sonic said, but it sounded too small a word for his liking.

"He died here in Knothole," Mina continued. "I was heading back with the Expeditionary Force that retook the _Nor'easter_, but we couldn't get to the city after our transport was strafed. Even from far away, I could see how fierce the fighting was… but you know what I mean, you were right there in the thick of it. Ash wasn't as experienced as… as some of the others. He was in the northern part of the city when the 'No Retreat' order was given. He was only a few meters from a plasma grenade when it went off. No one could have saved him. Not me, not anyone."

"He… was going to have been my manager…" Mina closed her eyes, and wiped away a tear that ran down her cheek. "I promised him, that… that after it was all over… I'd become a singer and share my voice, because it always made him smile."

Sonic tried to offer some sort of comfort, resting his hand gently on her shoulder. "You going to be ok?"

Mina nodded, silently. "So many have died, Sonic… two of my brothers, Ash, even Tails… look around us. Every one of these little stones is a life spent, and for what? I used to want revenge… against Robotnick… but there had to be more to it than that. I thought we were fighting for our freedom, not just from fear, but from…"

She stopped, and shut her mouth tightly before giving Sonic a weary smile. "There I go again. I sound just like him sometimes."

"It wasn't for nothing, Mina. I wasn't! We're alive because of the sacrifices of everyone out here. Every one of them. I think… I think it's up to us, the ones left behind, to make them proud of what they died for." He looked into her eyes, and hoped she understood what he was trying to say. "That's how we honor their memory."

Mina nodded, and hugged him, burying her face in the crook of his neck. Sonic, in that moment, remembered why he was here. It wasn't to catch up, or reminisce, or anything of the sort. He felt for Mina, but he had business. Pressing business.

"Mina…" he said, quietly. "Don't tell anyone you saw me here, ok?"

She didn't question why, she just nodded, and he felt more than saw the motion. They parted, and Mina turned to kiss her fingers, and then press the digits to the grave. When she stood back up, he felt the need to help her somehow.

"I can talk to the King about the probation thing…" He started to say.

"I know you would, but don't. Please." Mina seemed to grasp something about he situation he did not. "It would only make things worse, I think. Thank you for the offer, though."

Sonic returned a smile, and hoped it looked confident. "Everything will turn out ok. You'll see."

Mina just nodded, though Sonic suspected it was a hollow gesture.

"It was nice talking to you again, Sonic," she replied, changing the subject and understanding that he was here for something else, and that it was fairly urgent. "Say hello to Sally for me, ok?"

"I will," he answered, and gave a small wave as she departed, her two bodyguards close behind. He resolved himself to catch up with her later, and maybe even invite her to the Palace. It couldn't hurt. Especially since Sally and Mina had long since mended fences, as far as he knew. He gave a quick nod to Tails' memorial, and headed into the city as a quick pace. Luckily, his destination wasn't in a crowded part of the town.

The Power Hub was a weave of workshops and wide streets, the buildings simple and utilitarian, with pipes and the like arching through the air. Sonic inherently didn't like it, and never had. Oh, he recognized the usefulness and necessity, but it still made him uncomfortable. Fighting robots your entire life tends to make one wary of technology, especially when you do it relying only on your natural (or in his case, supernatural) abilities. He would never have told Rotor or Tails, but 'their' sections of Knothole resembled Robotnick's factories in stylistic design a little too much for his comfort.

Still, the air was clean, unlike Robotnick's typical mode of operation, which was to pollute to his heart's content. Noise pollution was a problem, but he supposed that those who worked here got used to the sound of welding and smoldering and construction. Sonic stepped aside on the road, as a wheeled road transport rolled by with a multi-ton load of machinery on board.

Finally, Sonic found the building he wanted, and ran the intercom. A camera near the door focused on him, and he looked up at it, familiar with the devices after his time in Station Square. Tails had used them in his Workshop, and likely brought the technology into use in Knothole as well. A light above the camera turned from red to orange, and it flashed briefly, taking a retinal scan to confirm his identity. After a second, it turned green, and the door opened, his visit expected.

This was one of the Secure Workshops in the city. It, like others, had survived the Battle of Knothole mostly intact. The remains of the Combot Legion had likely wanted the technology there intact, and moreover, Tails had ordered the defenders around that part of the city to hold their positions at any cost. They had done so, despite terrible losses.

"Sonic, m'boy!" Uncle Chuck greeted him with a broad smile on his organic face. With the end of the war, and the improvements in de-roboticizer technology, Sir Charles had finally had the chance to return himself to his original body. Sonic clasped his uncle's hand in a form grip, and pulled him in to slap on the back, careful to move his arm between the spines.

"Uncle Chuck!" Sonic returned, warmly. "How are ya?"

"Never better!" Chuck pounded a fist against his chest. "I feel like a young mobian again!"

"That's good to hear…"

Sonic was about to ask about the topic that had so troubled him, when Chuck leaned in and spoke in a softer more conspiratorial tone. "Have you… heard from my son, Sonic? Rush?"

Sonic frowned a bit. Rush was Charles' son, though they had never met. Rush still blamed his father for abandoning his mother, and a lot of the problems that came from it, though it was hardly Chuck's fault. Regardless, things were always strained between them, despite Chuck's attempts to patch things up with his estranged son.

"Sorry, Unc," Sonic replied, honestly. "I haven't heard from him in a while. I think he went back to that town… the one his adopted parents lived in?"

Charles nodded grimly. "I see…"

Sonic coughed, and changed the topic. "I assume Rotor is here?"

"He is," Charles assured his nephew. "So: what's this visit about?"

"Um… a few things…" Sonic disliked having to search for words, especially after he'd given so much thought about what to say on his way down, and over the last few days when he'd organized the trip. "Has there been any progress fixing the Ring Generator?"

Charles shook his head and sighed loudly. "Unfortunately: no. We've gotten it working back to the point where it can generate the energy required, but the mechanisms that form the chaos energy into rings… I just can't figure it out. If only Nate Morgan hadn't been killed, he could have fixed it, or taught us the principles required, but we're dealing with chaos mechanics on a level that's never been fully documented and researched by mobian science, let along employed."

It wasn't the answer Sonic had wanted, though it was expected.

"Can't you put it into… I dunno… battery form, or something?" the younger hedgehog asked.

"We don't have a means of storing it for extended periods of time as a stable resource, but yes… we have batteries of a sort, similar to the chaos capacitors Julian… er, Robotnick, made for his chaos powered devices. Right now, we're building a set of interface modules to use to connect the ring generator to the _Nor'easter_, since the Emerald Chamber for the airship seems irreparably damaged. It should restore functionality to the ship in a few months."

"How big are these batteries, then?"

"The first one was really unwieldy," Chuck replied. "But the new ones are only about a half ton each."

The two entered a larger workshop room, a hanger-like space thirty feet high, and a hundred or so feet long. Mechanical arms and devices hung from the ceiling or protruded from the ground or lay motionless on massive tables. Sonic could see the Ring Generator, attached to a plethora of other equipment he couldn't begin to fathom the purpose of. In the middle of it, Sonic saw Rotor, his left arm and leg bandaged, but fully mobile. The walrus had been injured on the project Sonic was about to bring up.

"Great…" Sonic drawled the word out, and then broached the subject. "And the Fake Emeralds?"

Charles frowned at the term. "The Synthetic Emeralds, you mean… They're not really _fake_, per say. What about them?"

"What else? Have you been able to make more?" Sonic asked, and he nodded to Rotor as they walked down a flight of steps. "Rotor."

"Make more?" Uncle Chuck chuckled. "Maybe we will in about ten or twenty years. At the best, it'll be three or four years if we can get a spy in place and find out how Prower Dynamic does it."

"What?" Sonic asked, and bit back his first response. "Ah. Why?"

"It's… complicated." Charles looked at his nephew, not so much with suspicion, but curiosity. "Why do you ask?"

"I need one." Sonic replied, through clenched teeth. "There must be a few around here? I heard that all the Cyclones had them, and a bunch of those were wrecked in the battle…"

"We only have four intact and operational Synthetic Chaos Emeralds…" Rotor spoke up, answering Sonic. "Three from crashed War Machines, and one from Prower Dynamic. Two are here, and the other two are at secure government facilities. But why would you need one?"

Sonic took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. "I'm…"

After a few seconds, Rotor and Uncle Chuck exchanged glances. Chuck said what they were both thinking. "You're…?"

"I'm…" Sonic licked his lips. "I'm getting slower. I'm losing my speed."

Two pairs of eyes blinked. Rotor kept silent, and listened. As Charles was far better acquainted with Sonic's unique condition of chaos manifestation, he quirked an eyebrow and stuck out his chin in thought.

"How so?" the older hedgehog asked.

"How do you think?" Sonic snapped, but quickly reigned himself in. "Sorry. I mean… I'm losing my energy. _My edge_. I can feel it fading away. I need to use Rings just to reach speeds I could normally achieve by myself. I don't feel lethargic or anything. I'm not getting tired. I just can't… I can't feel it as much anymore. It's harder and harder to run at top speed. Even less than that, now."

"Could it be that he's used up his natural chaos energy reserves?" Rotor asked.

"I doubt it. Sonic doesn't just store energy, he generates it as well, though it only manifests in one physical respect. He shouldn't be generating less, or storing less, unless his health had deteriorated to a dramatic degree. Age shouldn't be a factor, either. Mammoth Mogul, Dimitri, and the Brotherhood of Guardians are all proof of that." Uncle Chuck rubbed his chin between his thumb and index finger, a sure sign that he was deep in thought.

"When did this start happening?" Rotor asked. "A time frame would give us some idea of the nature of this affliction."

"It was…" Sonic paused, but continued, firmly resolved. "It was the Battle of Knothole. I know it was. I was jumping from one missile to another, and using Chaos Control. I had my… I had the light blue Super Emerald with me…"

"Where did you get that Emerald, anyway?" Rotor interrupted. "I'm just curious, since we didn't think any of the Supers were off Angel Island until Tails found Metal Sonic using one."

"Sally gave it to me…" Sonic explained. "She said a concerned citizen found it and gave it to her."

Chuck and Rotor both frowned at that, but nodded.

"So, I was on the last missile… but I couldn't get the hatch to open. I was desperate. And, I sort of felt the Emerald… I felt like it was holding something back from me. Like there was a power to it that I could only begin to tap into. I tried to use that power to help me… it was so close to the city, I was… I was afraid…" Sonic admitted, and looked down at his feet in shame.

"I was afraid. I didn't want to die, and I didn't want anyone else to either. I knew, in that instant, that I would do anything, give up anything, even my life, for the strength to save Knothole. I heard a voice, and it asked 'anything' and I agreed. I agreed, and I felt the power course through me. At the time, I didn't think much of it. Sometimes using Chaos powers, especially accessing new levels of them, can be a… almost a spiritual experience. But this was different. This was…" Sonic balled his fists. "I'm losing it. My speed. That's what it cost me!'

'It didn't take my life,' he thought, but mindfully didn't say. 'It took the one thing I can't live without! It took the thing that made me, me! Why? Why? Was it some sort of test? Or am I just part of some cruel game of fate! Why is this happening to me!'

Rotor and Chuck exchanged glances again. Sonic suspected that they doubted a lot of the story, especially the part with the voice and the ideal of chaos energy having some sort of spiritual dimension to it. They probably thought that it was something psychological, or psychosomatic, or whatever. They didn't understand. Even with all they knew about the emeralds and about 'chaos mechanics' they didn't have a clue. Sonic listened, and did as they asked, running tests and the like.

He knew, then, that they wouldn't be able to help him.

He would have to look… elsewhere.

* * *

"You see now my dilemma. So: I have ordered the weakest link in the enemy chain either retrieved or broken."

* * *

"Dead?" Drago asked, incredulous. He sucked in a deep breath and braced his face with his right hand, covering the right eye. Opposite him, across from a plain blackwood sitting room table, Hershey watched the play of disbelief and fear run through his features. Drago had always been something of a coward, unwilling to risk his life for anyone much less any cause. He'd been just shy of the gallows before, and now it must look like he was about to go back with honors.

"Dead?" Drago asked again. "Mogul? Mammoth Mogul? Are you sure?"

"I was told that he was dead by the one who killed him," Hershey elaborated, calmly. She had never met Mammoth Mogul, never even been simply in his presence, but she had heard of his power. Of how he could not be killed. Of how he was as close to a God as any have ever been.

She didn't know for sure whether he was dead, but she had been told that he was.

That was enough, considering the source, and what she had seen and felt.

Drago was silent after that, mentally processing and sorting through all she had told him. She was no longer with the Secret Service; her 'betrayal' in Cat Country had sealed any future she had with that organization, and essentially destroyed her relationship with St. John, who still refused to acknowledge her existence much less talk about what had happened. Knuckles, the Guardian of Angel Island, had fallen from grace, a fate that would befall any of the Devourer's Pawns. And Mammoth Mogul, the Immortal, was dust on an unmarked beach.

There was more, too, but he didn't need to know that yet.

And she, Hershey Cat, had pledged herself to a new Master. Or Masters. Ones who would not betray her. Ones who would not hurt her. She was weak, and she knew it. Whether it was that weakness that seemed to conspire to dash her hopes and dreams over and over, or whether cruel coincidence had made her weak because of those failures, she didn't know. She wasn't a leader, however, and she never would be, but that no longer troubled her.

The moment he, who she had met so many times before, touched her shoulder and thanked her… thanked her, thanked her, for all she had volunteered to do in the years to come… Since then, she had known that her life had begun anew. The Relic Church had always taught that there were circles – layers – of understanding. Cross sections of comprehension. She was closer now, to that burning fire around which Truth revolved. Close enough to feel the warmth, but far enough not to be singed.

And there would be more, in time.

More Shadows to wage the Hidden War, the Shadow Jihad.

"What now?" Drago finally asked. He looked to the door of the study room, just behind a stand of hand written scrolls and books. This was where the monks came to meditate on the secrets of their predecessors, and it was the most private sanctuary in the area. The shadows here were plentiful as well.

"Are you going to try and kill me?" Drago continued, apparently giving up on the running option. He stared at her, and she could see the growing frantic thoughts behind his eyes. She had seen it all before in him. Almost from the day they first met. "Did he…?"

"No." Hershey reached up to her neckline and shook her head. "I don't have an Emerald in me. My body, my free will, my mind is still my own, and always will be."

Drago smiled then, or smirked, and barked out a short laugh.

"You don't have one?" He thumped his chest. "Then what did you hope to accomplish coming here and telling me all that?"

"Simple," Hershey said, and put her hands flat on the low table between them. "I want you to give up, Drago. Give up and let them try and remove what you had put in you. Let Him try."

"Remove it?" Drago's voice lowered slightly. "I'll be powerless."

Hershey sighed. "I won't say that the real power is choice, Drago. I won't say the power you have now only seems like you have control over it. I won't sugar coat it, or try and justify it. I'll just say this: the second time someone like me, one of my Masters, comes for you. They won't talk to you. They'll kill you."

"I have more to my new power than just a voice, Hershey," Drago warned, but not with the viciousness she had half expected.

"The choice is yours. They approached me, specifically to approach you. To tell you what had happened, and what was going to happen. I'll admit I was surprised to hear what you were up to. Your Master is using you, a pawn, to build up a more useful piece. Rising a condemned man with limited aspirations so far, knowing that he would be contented, knowing that he could be used without resentment, that was the plan. But you can foil it, Drago. I can't offer you power, but I can offer you a chance to live and maybe even to be free."

Drago closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair.

"Why… why haven't I become like those others? Or even like Knuckles? Why not me?"

Hershey looked away from him when she replied, "Because, more than any of the others, you're expendable, and it isn't what your Master wants from you. You and Ysbadadden were both just decoys. Mulciber fought when he wasn't supposed to, and when he did he couldn't prove that the one he was fighting was the real deal by forcing him to use his true powers. Mogul's fight coincided with a moment when the Devourer was reforming himself. When the time comes to use someone more convenient, I suspect your Emerald will be taken from you, and you'll be left to rot."

"Is that how it is?" Drago chuckled. Hershey couldn't see his expression with him leaning back and looking up, but she imagined it was unsurprised by the news.

"You can't say you didn't suspect it."

"Actually… no," Drago said and craned his neck to look forward at her again. "I hadn't thought of it before. Which is odd. I'm not that dense, am I, babe?"

"No," Hershey replied and smiled weakly. "You're not. Let me help you, Drago?"

He scoffed. "You can do as you want. I don't want to get into a fight right now anyway. And my Emerald is telling me you didn't come alone."

Drago's Adam's apple seemed to touch something, and he flinched.

"That would be My Master," Hershey clarified. "I told her it wouldn't be necessary, but I suppose she's a little overprotective."

If he had struggled, or if he had begun to tap into Chaos Energies, it would have been troublesome. But he didn't. A second later, his head lolled forward against his chest, and he fell forward. Hershey quickly got to her feet and caught him before he hit the table.

"I knew he could be talked into coming along peacefully," Hershey said smiling.

Behind her, leaning against a bookcase, Fiona 2.0 crossed her arms.

* * *

Cream opened her eyes, disturbed from her sleep. She still hurt from that last fight against the Temple Priestess, and she wasn't used to how chaos energies could actually do permanent harm to her body. In the darkness, she could see Cream, laughing.

"How delightful…" A voice in her head chortled, sensing her unspoken query. "How delightful it is to see the pieces moving finally. How delightful it will be to hear, once more, the wailing and the gnashing of teeth. How delicious it will be to see pain and lamenting in the face of another God! How wonderful it will be to see his plans turn to ash, and his hopes turn to desperate determination. And when he kills you, my beautiful Sekhmet, and when he spills the blood of all those he cared for, I will be there to bask in that glow."

Cheese laughed; a hollow scraping tombstone sound.

"That _glow_… which will turn him into me…"


	26. Tornado of Souls II

* * *

Minalkra was wondering just when the hell they were going to get around to killing him. After being shipped off, he had been sure that there was going to be a quick show trial, and a semi-dignified execution. If possible, he would have some last words, as was technically his right as a nobleman. Instead, he had been shoved in a dark cell for what had assumed to be at least a week. Maybe two.

What was up with this sudden delay?

He stumbled as they forced him to walk. He had no idea where he was going, what with the bag over his head and the blindfold over his eyes. They seemed to have had him in a vehicle for some time, once out of the dungeon, and promptly transferred him to another. Except this new one was quiet. There were no sounds of rattling cages, no heavily clatter of locking doors. This was a sterile environment almost.

"Alright. That's far enough," he heard someone say; one of his five anonymous guards.

"Welcome, Mr. de Chapelleverte," said a voice he recognized, one with a name: Geoffrey St. John. With a yank, he pulled off both the hood and the blindfold. Blinded by the suddenly bright light, Minalkra cringed and instinctively tried to shield his face. It was only a few seconds before he could start to distinguish shapes, and the general layout of his new prison, but during that time, he inexplicably felt a crushing dread catch his heart. There was no reason behind it, just an animal fear of what was around the corner.

When he saw what was before him, what sat in the middle of the room, he realized why he was here. And frowned.

"The gas chamber?" He turned up his nose. "I thought I had an appointment with the noose and a public platform? What is the meaning of this? I haven't had a trial yet!"

"No hangman for you, I'm afraid," a regal voice came from above, and Minalkra looked up to see King Acorn himself right next to him. Within striking range, almost.

"Your fate…" the King grinned. "Will be different."

Lab coated technicians moved around, monitoring the instruments nearby. It seemed a lot for a gas chamber and a few recording cameras, but then again, Minalkra wasn't familiar enough to say how much of this was automated and how much wasn't. The gas chamber had never been a very popular method of capitol punishment: the visceral death of a criminal was never the same over a vid screen, not like a proper execution in a public forum.

"I'm honored you came to see me off, my lord…" Minalkra sneered. "But where are the rest of our beloved Royals?"

King Acorn didn't reply. He simply stared, and there was something in his face, in his manner, that troubled Minalkra. Troubled him, even though he was ready and willing to die.

"Sir?" St. John asked, looking at the chamber in the center of the room. "Are you sure…"

"Yes," was all the King said in return. Geoffrey said nothing more. Instead, they waited. The room was two tiered, and there were empty seats up on the second level. Or almost empty. Minalkra could see a few, maybe four, shadowy figures watching. One seemed to me taking notes.

Probably a reporter.

Minalkra straightened up, and presented himself in as dignified a fashion as he could manage. He may or may not be allowed his last words, but even if he was not (and he was not so coarse as to yell out his thoughts without turn), he would comport himself properly. It was what he had done all this for, after all: to die well, and in the process, to fan the flames of secession.

"We're ready, sir! Everything's Go!" One of the techs yelled, snapping Minalkra out of his thoughts.

"Very well, Doctor. Strap him in, and then we will allow him his Last Words, as is his right." King Acorn coughed just after finishing his sentence, and wiped the side of his mouth with a kerchief. Minalkra blinked, unsure whether he has seen a few flecks of blood or not on the fine white silk the King had used.

He didn't offer any resistance, as they led him to the clear plastic tube that rose up out of the floor. There was no chair, however, which had always been present before in gas chamber executions. Minalkra was sure of that. Only then, after they insisted he remove his shoes, and after they closed the open face of the cylinder, did he realize that he may not be in a gas chamber.

"Maximilian!" Minalkra roared, and slammed an open palm against the plastic that caged him. "What is the meaning of this? What are you doing?"

King Max walked forward, his expression severe.

Pitiless.

"I thought it was obvious." He paused, just a second, before calmly explaining. "I'm going to roboticize you."

Minalkra's eyes grew wide as that sunk in.

"Not like that, however." The King leaned in closer. "This will leave your mind undamaged. Because, you see, after you have been stripped of your flesh and blood, I will have my men remove your head from your torso. Then, they will extract all the information they need from what passes for your brain. What remains, I shall have recycled. And you, Francois de Chapelleverte, last of your line, end of your family… you will simply disappear into the darkness and be forgotten."

"wait…"

"Now… let us have those last words of yours…" King Acorn looked to his side. "Begin the procedure."

"wait… Wait! Wait!" Minalkra stumbled back, as something cold came out of vents in the floor, chilling the soles of his feet. He knew, abstractly, what it was. The gas was used to prepare the flesh to be roboticized. He felt his body grow heavy, grow numb, and then, so soon he could hardly believe it, he felt the pain.

And his last words were gibbering screams of agony.

A half-flesh hand left a bloody streak on the plastic divider, as the tortured form crumpled into a heap. Normal roboticization was a wracking experience in and of itself, but at least it also disconnected the consciousness from the body. Not this time. Preserving the memories for direct extraction meant applying techniques used in deroboticization, but in a localized region. Maximilian watched, and finally understood what his scientists had meant when they had described what the process would be like.

"I… I think this is a dangerous threshold, my King," Geoffrey ventured to speak, walking a little closer to where his lord stood and watched, as Minalkra's screams died down into a low groan, his lungs no longer properly responding.

"No," King Acorn shook his head. "This is nothing. Less than even a beginning. Our enemy is weakness. Our foe is complacency. Our nemesis is accommodation. This Great Kingdom shall not fail, shall not fragment, shall not lose itself to popular upheaval. We know who we are to fight. We go now to War."

* * *

The Northlands were quiet, and cold, and Tempest felt at home in it, even if the territory he walked through was no longer his own. He was flanked by two companions, both female. It could be no other way, when outside the territory of one's clan, and expecting some possible danger. To take a war party of males into the lair of another would be a violation of Tradition. Even though he was tempted, given what Chara had telepathically communicated to him over their sibling bond. 

Looking up at the sky, through the branches of the forest, he sighed wistfully. What was he going to do if Chara was right in her suspicions? He had never been very popular with the other Clan Ephors, or with the Elders. He supposed that he would just have to improvise and handle things… roughly. He reached up to his forehead, annoyed by a light ochre strand that almost got in his eye.

"Quit fooling with your hair, you oaf," the female behind him slapped him on the forearm. "It took hours making you presentable."

"Is that any way to talk to your honorable Ephor?" Tempest frowned and looked back at her. Against most kitsune, he didn't even have to try and look vexed. His reputation in combat was enough to coerce them to adopt a position of submission and expose their neck. This one, however, just gave him a chiding look.

"It is, when he has the grooming skills of a mentally retarded bison," she returned, smiling enough to show sharp canines. Her bluster, to almost anyone, would have seemed suicidal. At one third of his weight, Sakeri was short even for a kitsune female, who were all smaller than their male counterparts. Neither did she have an advantage in experience, since it was obvious from looking at her that she was fairly young. The exotic pink hair against her red fur made her look even more harless, despite her wearing stripped down _Afet_ female armor.

He grunted and faced forward. "I find it amusing that I command so little respect in the eyes of my female subordinates. Perhaps I should start acting more like a traditional Ephor."

"Perhaps," Sakeri admitted. "Would you like me to kill myself?"

"Don't be asinine," Tempest replied with a low growl.

"The reason you wouldn't ask me to disembowel myself, honorable Ephor, isn't because we're old friends, but because you've always had a distaste for sycophants. So instead you promote the most argumentative aides you can get your hands on."

"Of course," Sakeri added. "In formal company, I would die before hearing you dishonored. Please bear with my insubordinate nature, honorable Ephor."

"I know that, Sake. You are my handsmaiden, but I would prefer you didn't throw yourself onto the claws of another Ephor or Enir when we arrive. It would be…" he almost said 'a shame' or that he would miss her insulting loud-mouthed company. Luckily, he caught himself. "It would be a waste."

"Do I tell you how to do your job?" She replied, and he shook his head.

"I don't like these highlights you put in however," he complained, as the strand of hair from before again tried to invade his eye.

"You look good with them," Sakeri tried to assure him. "Trust me. Even for a strong male, you look very attractive. And when meeting another Ephor, and his High Guard, you must look your most beautiful."

"The other Ephors never care." Tempest replied, more annoyed than before. "Even Tae'Uhl, and he's as traditional as they come."

"What are you, dense?" Sakeri sighed. "We aren't trying to impress the other Ephors."

"Then…" Tempest finally got her meaning. "Curse you females…"

"Oh, you have no idea what traditions we vixens have, do you war leader?" she asked huskily. Indeed, he didn't. Males were forbidden from even asking. There was a rather sharp and stark divide in kitsune society along gender lines. This didn't mean that he (and males in general) weren't curious about all the odd female rituals that went on behind their backs, just that they remained the secrets they were supposed to be.

Still, Sakeri had always been like this.

She was fortunate that her combat skills had matured more than her speech, otherwise, friend or not, he would have made more of an effort to mate her off to attract stronger blood from another clan. There had been that boy from Kalahen, a few years ago, but then he had left, and Sakeri hadn't gone to the effort of attracting a suitor since. It wasn't like Chara, who actively rebuffed most males, rather she simply seemed to dislike the effort of enticing a male to try and claim her.

Still, she did her job well. She carried his weapons and other gear in a ceremonial capacity, and acted as his bodyguard. However, since he was (by nature as Ephor) the strongest and most powerful individual in Clan Vidar, that meant her real job was either to be a nuisance to an enemy, a suicidal distraction, or that she would be used to make sure he wasn't interrupted in a fight. In practice, the latter was her most likely and important function. That… and some diplomatic functions he wasn't entirely clear with.

This was their last day of travel, and soon enough, Sakeri motioned for him to stay with her apprentice, a female named Kaalae, while she went ahead. He knew it was to meet up with the party that would, shortly, "find" them in the forest and invite them to their nearby camp. He was traveling as an Ephor, not simply as an individual kitsune wanderer, so the protocols were different.

He assumed (from his father's memories) that it was to avoid bloodshed. An Ephor could, if surprised, easily kill someone out of instinct. Similarly, a strong female guard could also act on instinct, and kill or badly wound another, if there was an unexpected confrontation in the thick woods. Of course, no one wanted that, so they met first, and then discussed how things would go.

He assumed.

Sure enough, Sakeri came back, led them a short ways forward, and no more than five minutes later they were "surprised" by three females in full _Afet_ armor, all of them bearing the sigil of Clan Jel'Arah. Two then came up from behind, hardly a surprise, but they did affect an efficient encirclement.

From their stances, Tempest didn't wager any were an individual challenge, but they also had _Al Hasad_ rifles. And that was a hell of an equalizer. He knew he could take quite a few bullets and keep going if they were the usual rifle caliber, but an _Al Hasad_ would be considered a cannon by southerners. It would punch a hole through him, and probably through a three or two behind him as well.

"We submit to you, Honorable Ephor Anthal Na'Vidar, and offer the shelter of our camp in hospitality and good will," the leader of the five said, walking towards him, her head to the side in a proper display of submission: bearing her neck. She was obviously a Jel'Arah, her coloring unremarkable, but her bearing prim and dignified. Even her speech and accent reflected that she was born and raised from that old and haughty Clan.

Sakeri, despite her earlier attitude, was all business. She stiffened when the foreign female approached him, and he saw a twitch in her muscles. He knew she was ready to strike, and would do so, if the female came any closer to her Ephor. An assassination of an Ephor Anthal was essentially unheard of in kitsune history, and kitsune history was exceptionally long, but still all took their roles in society very seriously.

"I accept your submission, and will not take your life," he replied solemnly.

"Then I am Cmeza-uhl Se'Dorad Na'Jel'Arah," the lead female straightened her neck but kept her head bowed. It was proper that she only give her name once he decided not to take her life, and he wondered (off hand) if southerners would consider that fact a bit morbid. How odd southern folk were, really, to go about their lives not knowing who was below them and who above. It was like they enjoyed the sense of insecurity and uncertainty.

"If you would follow me, I will lead you to Camp Lasric-Arah," she then took two steps back, turned, and motioned for them to do as she asked. Sakeri took up position next to him, as did Kaalae, who seemed a bit more relaxed. His ears twitched as he heard a murmur behind him, and two of the foreign females giggling. He suspected it was at his expense. Apparently whatever had been said had been done with hand signs (like those used during a hunt to maintain silence).

Gritting his teeth, he ignored them.

It was almost a relief when he saw the so called camp of Lasric-Arah, which translated to "New Dawn of Arah." Sakeri sucked in a breath when she saw the new buildings, and he heard Kaalae make a surprised sound as well. Everything in kitsune territory was old, so seeing new things – buildings no less – really had to be understood in context for the shock it was. Of course, he knew about them already, and only frowned a fraction.

One of the female escorts went off, and the others waited in silence. He could not formally enter the camp before meeting the head of the female garrison. Only then would he meet the other Ephors. The female who came, very promptly actually (which he appreciated), was a grizzled looking creature. Not to say she was old, since kitsune rarely lived long enough to be old, but she had certainly seen her share of fights.

She was probably only a decade older than he was, but had obviously had a harder time of it. She wore elaborate _Afet _armor of very fine craftsmanship, and a rich purple cloak. He could see the beauty she had possessed, likely only a few years ago, and in many ways, she was still attractive, as kitsune could appreciate scars for the marks of survival that they were. She was missing an eye, her right one, and had replaced it with a synthetic. That side of her face also bore four long scars lengthwise: clawmarks.

He also saw a scar along the side of her neck. Females had no mane to protect them there, and were much more vulnerable to that sort of injury. He could tell that it had been a lethal blow to the jugular, and that it had been avoided by a slim margin. Colorwise, she was a rusty brown, and so was her hair, which she kept in a long braid down her chest. Her chestfur, and the tips of her tails, were plain white. More importantly, her stance was confident and strong.

He wondered if she was stronger than Sakeri. Certainly, she was taller and heavier, and older. Females fought often, but they general did so among themselves. Males were not privy to it, like females were privy to male feuds. He had seen females spar before, but never truly fight. This was a shame, as he knew a great many highly skilled vixens.

Cmeza spoke first, "I present you with the worthy kitsune charged with the humble defense of Camp Lasric-Arah: Our Campmaster and Head Female, the Lady of the Watch, Tania-Uhl Se'Serva Na' Jel'Arah, mate to Kandrad-Uhl Se'Dorad Na' Jel'Arah."

"I greet you," Tempest inclined his head. Of course, he did not show any part of his neck. He looked quickly from Cmeza to Tania, just then realizing they were mother and daughter. He noted that, unlike with Kae introduced her mother, this pair seemed much more formal and left the relationship unsaid.

"You are welcome here, Honorable Ephor Na'Vidar. The Mighty Enir of Jel'Arah will be here shortly, as I can only assume you have come to see him. In the meantime, I shall accord you my daughter as your Auxiliary. Make use of her as you see fit."

"I shall serve to the best of my ability," Cmeza bowed her head and exposed her neck. "In all things, of course."

Next to him, he heard Sakeri growl. Did she have some problem with the other girl? She didn't seem particularly threatening. If anything, she seemed… average. He contemplated asking Sakeri what her problem was telepathically over their bond, but that required time and effort, and he didn't want to seem rude.

"This is acceptable to me," Tempest said, not wanting to dawdle. Really, it was only polite to ask for someone else if one had a favorite and had been at the camp before. Which he hadn't.

"You shall find her adequate." Tania seemed to assure him. Or insult her daughter. Or both. "Let this camp offer you a meal, Honorable Ephor."

"I shall gratefully accept such an offering," Tempest replied. He had done this so many times over the years, it was rote formality.

"Go," Tania commanded her offspring, and Cmeza quickly departed.

"This is a fascinating camp you have been given to watch over…" Tempest crossed his arms and nodded. "Yes. I was very surprised to hear of a new camp in Jel'Arah lands, so surprised I decided to visit myself to be sure. And a permanent settlement like this: very unexpected. We will have to update our maps."

"You could have waited until after we contacted the elders. Or at the next Solstice Meeting." Tania almost seemed to be reproving him. This was one of the reasons he generally disliked Jel'Arah high families. They were often obtrusive and annoying to talk to. Tae-Uhl was, too, sometimes, and it was one of his old friend's less endearing traits.

"I suppose I'm the impatient sort," Tempest replied. "When was this camp laid down? Last year?"

"Eight months ago, Ephor," the Lady of the Watch answered, and he assumed she was honest. Kitsune, as a rule, didn't lie, especially to those higher in the hierarchy than they. Eight months, however, was around the time he was training Miles down in the southlands.

"I have also heard rumors… security concerns," Tempest continued. "Over the last two years, we in Vidar have had a few robot forces foolishly intrude on out lands. They were, of course, swiftly destroyed. How about yourselves?"

"I can say, with certainty…" Tania scowled a little more deeply. "That my guardswomen have not encountered any intruding forces since the establishment of this camp."

"That's reassuring to hear."

"As Second Mistress of Security for the lands of Jel'Arah, I can boast that our security… is absolute, unbreakable, and unshaken by southern invasions. Elsewhere, we did suffer some fools who entered our lands, and they paid the price for their crime. However, we are currently far from any of those regions, and I have been informed that the source of the robots from the south has been destroyed."

Tempest finally saw El'Arah approach, from around one of the buildings. He seemed in fairly good spirits, and looked well. Tempest has met him numerous times before. El'Arah was rust colored, but with darker hair, and white chest fur. His hair style reminded Tempest of Miles, with two long bangs falling forward and framing his face. By his appearance, and the too-quickly combed nature of his fur, Tempest has a sneaking suspicion he had been worked over to be more presentable over the last few minutes. El was also, like Miles, lean and somewhat small for a kitsune male.

"Tempest!" El said with a smile, and the two males clasped each other by the wrist in familiar greeting. "It has been some time since I last saw you."

"Yes," Tempest replied, amiably. "I trust you've been training hard since then?"

El's expression darkened for a second. "In my own way, I have."

"I can smell Thandothane is somewhere around here. Don't tell me he came to check on the new camp you've built, too?"

"Noticed, did you?" El seemed a bit peeved by that. "Yes. Thando is here."

In truth, Tempest didn't smell him around, not yet, but he knew he was here. It was a little lie, between social peers, where some measure of deception was acceptable.

"Well, forget about that old warblade! I'll run into him later, I assume." So much assuming he had done recently. Damn politics. "Let's get something to eat, and drink, and catch up on recent events."

* * *

"This is poor timing," Thandothane Se' Gallan Na' Tukaido, lord of Clan Tukaido, dismissed the runner sent to inform him of Tempest's arrival with a wave of his hand. His face set in a deep scowl; he bared a single canine in displeasure, before returning his attention to the ongoing experiment. 

"It is unfortunate that you were correct about the Vidar Ephor," his aide agreed eagerly, nodding his head. The two stood in a white walled room and watched through a one way mirror into a sunken chamber. Two other kitsune where in the recessed area, both male, and both wearing the white dye of the medical profession on their faces: a zagging line over the eyebrows that disappeared around the ears. They were examining another figure, with dual kitsune-like tails, but shadowed features.

"I still bristle at how this treacherous human thought to play us for fools. Introducing a sterility agent to make our Newtypes useless?" Thandothane flexed his fingers, claws raking the air. "Curse him for this delay."

"And after we, in good faith, fulfilled out part of the bargain without duplicity," the aide added, his tone quiet. "Truly, he is an honorless creature, this Mastermind. We should have had him killed when he ventured, so heedlessly, into our lands…"

"Silence, you imbecile," Thandothane sharply snapped, and his aide flinched at the rebuke. "First, he didn't venture into our lands. The agreement he made was with El'Arah, not us. And while a slow and screaming death is a fitting punishment for such attempted trickery, in the end, we got what we wanted. Killing him on the spot would have been a waste. No one had even ever thought a half human mongrel was possible before he put one on our plates."

"My Liege is both generous and furious in anger and repose," the aide said contritely and bowed his head deeply.

"Yes. It has taken more time, but we were able to repair the damage and get the Newtypes working again. When they do bear pups, they should be far stronger than that Canius creature Mastermind brought us. Still… imagine our surprise when, testing that mongrel, we discovered that he was one quarter kitsune?"

Thandothane mused over the improbability of it all. Mobian and human genes were incompatible, which everyone knew. That was what made Canius so strange. However, they had found only recently that human genetics would be mixed with certain breeds: those outside mobian norms. This included the kitsune, and the dragonkin, and presumably the other "mythical" creatures of Mobius. Why this was, Thandothane had no idea. The kitsune were unrelated to the dragonkin and the overlanders, so why would a mating produce viable offspring? It made no sense.

It was like meeting a cousin, and finding that he (or she) looks completely different. Supposedly, he had been informed, kitsune were more closely related to dragons than even one-tailed vulpines.

Granted, this had come from human researchers. Kitsune were still forbidden to do Blood Research on themselves, and Thandothane was quick to remind himself and others that they weren't doing so now, either. They were just hearing the results from others, and doing work on strictly non-kitsune creatures: humans and Newtypes. None of it technically went against Tradition or the Taboo.

When Mastermind traveled, recklessly, to the northlands, he had not been killed because he had brought Canius. He had also brought one of his mutate freaks, but that creature was of no importance. A party of Jel'Arah females had stopped them, without harming them, to inquire as to the nature of the odd mongrel in their midst. Later, a party of males had investigated, and El'Arah himself had gone to meet with the human and see the 'defiance of nature' he had brought with him. Only then had the truth been confirmed.

Canius' father had been half kitsune himself, the product of some wayward youngster's quest into the southlands, and subsequent tryst with a lupine. By amazing coincidence, the product of their union had survived, and later underwent a Turan'ha. Of course, there was no one around to control and focus the feral instincts of the rut, with somewhat predictable consequences. The Turan'ha, as all kitsune know, strongly encourages one not just to pick a mate, but to pick a mate that is most genetically compatible, out of the available nearby options. How unexpected it must have been, then, that he had gone on to "claim" some unlucky human female who had been in the area.

As to why the woman had not terminated the pregnancy when it was discovered, in light of notorious human xenophobia, Thandothane had no idea. Either did any of the humans who had, in turn, given him this information. Instead, she had kept the child. Perhaps she believed it would be human, the result of her union with some overlander male around that time. It hardly mattered in the present, except as a curiosity. The kitsune in his father was what had allowed Canius to exist, and in turn, had led to the creation of these Newtypes.

Canius was very strong, given his background, and Thandothane and El'Arah firmly believed that the introduction of human genes would produce a new generation of kitsune heirs, more powerful than any before it. The hybrids would be larger, stronger, hardier, perhaps even smarter. It was helpful that the humans had been genetically engineering and improving on themselves for several generations already.

So they had worked out a deal, and exchanged some of their own for a few choice humans. Thandothane wasn't sure what the humans wanted with kitsune males and females, and he didn't really care. As far as he was concerned, those he sent to the southlands had died in battle, bringing benefit and new strength to their Clans. What better way was there to die, really?

The problem at first had been the sabotage of the Newtypes, but whoever had administered the sterility agent had not reckoned with the hugely improved regenerative capacity of the Newtypes. It put even a pureblood kitsune's to shame! Within a month, and with the aid of kitsune doctors, all of the Newtypes had returned to full health, and were ovulating again. This was good news, since it meant that he wouldn't have to fly into a rage and exact immediate and horrible revenge on the treacherous humans to their south, as well as any offending kitsune who happened to be within range of his claws.

That little crisis over, a new problem quickly reared its head.

The Newtypes were… moody.

Generally, they were either despondent to the point of suicide, like the current patient (indeed, two had tried to tear their wrists open, and one had died before being restrained), or they were enraged and highly uncooperative. From what they had screamed and yelled, it seemed that they had been tricked into going, rather than being volunteers like Thandothane and El'Arah had asked for. For most, that wasn't a problem. Even with their enhanced Newtype abilities, they had been untrained civilians.

Only a few, the most promising specimens, were dangerous. These were the military personnel, and of that group, their former leader was especially problematic. Her power seemed to be growing every day, and she was cold and unpredictable. Already, two medical doctors and a warrior had been badly mauled by her, one of the former almost killed. It was with sadness that they had been forced to sedate her, since there was some concern that it may limit her potential.

How vexing this enterprise was, sometimes.

But Thandothane consoled himself with how he knew it would pay off in time. His heir, and his former mate, had both been weak. Neither were deserving of their lives, not in his eyes, not after failing him and wasting so many years of effort. Of course, his daughter had been enraged that he had killed her mother before she had the chance, denying her of her right as heir, but she had wisely left after he had bared his fangs at her. She was weak, too, but not a fool.

Besides, his mate had gotten what she wanted out of the relationship. Her heir, his daughter, was stronger than her, and would have sire-slayed her honorably. He, however, ended up with the shitty end of the deal. His heir was weak, too weak to kill him, too weak to succeed him. After that first fight, Thandothane had sensed immediately that his son would never become strong enough. It was thus better that he die then and there, rather than waste years trying for the impossible.

El'Arah was in that position as well. He was no match for his father, and he knew it, even without having to have that point proven in a formal fight. El was smart, however, and cunning. He saw an opportunity in the humans, and wisely contacted the Tukaido Clan, knowing Thandothane would have similar ambitions ad interests. Soon, it would begin to pay off.

But until it did, it had to be kept a secret.

* * *

The other females were clueless. 

So very clueless.

"We're here to relieve you two," Chara said, sounding calm and reasonable, and most importantly: sounding like she was in charge. Kae marveled at that. Chara had the bearing of someone who knew she was powerful, and knew she was dominant, and by her tone of voice alone, others were less inclined to argue or suspect anything was amiss.

The other two females, guarding the entrance of one of the buildings in the camp, looked glad to see her. The taller of the two nodded eagerly, and picked up her _Al Hasad_, which she had left propped up against the wall. The other wearily got to her feet from where she had sat, and brushed off her tails.

"About time. This assignment has to be the worst," the taller vixen complained. "And all these doctors… not a cute one in the bunch."

"They're all Tukaido, it seems. You know what I mean," the shorter one added, motioning to her hair. "They have that narrow jaw thing on. Yuck."

"You're mated anyway, what do you care?"

"I can still look! There's no Tradition against that!"

"We'll catch up with you two later," the tall one said to Chara and Kae'Arah, and led her friend off, while resuming their conversation. The two females took up positions guarding the door, and after a few silent minutes of doing their duty, they gave each other a quick look.

There was one sure thing about kistune, male or female. They took a lot for granted, and they had severely atrophied concepts of espionage. Kitsune tended to do what they were told to do by those higher up than themselves, and as a consequence, they never expected their peers to act in an unusual fashion. Caution and care was still required, but less so than one would expect.

With a little nod of agreement, Chara and Kae opened the door they were supposed to be guarding, and walked right in. With Tempest around to fall back on (which they were going to eventually anyway), it was time for a big play at the truth. If they found what they half expected to, give the rumors running around, then all would be forgiven anyway.

Still, if they had run into any guards, there could have been trouble. Luckily, none seemed to be about. Chara knew there was a limited male fighting population present, and that they were elsewhere at the moment, following their normal routine. The building there were in presently was not large, and two other females in guard duty had seen what looked like a body being taken from the main complex to be stored here.

Most assumed it was a training accident, or the result of one of some poor male making Thandothane angry enough to kill him. Chara suspected otherwise, and how nice it was of her brother and Sakeri to be drawing so much attention to themselves at the moment. One could almost think they'd planned it out beforehand.

It was easy to find the door to the morgue. It was unlocked, even – too easy! Then again, as the saying went, sometimes the best place to hide a secret was in plain sight. It could well be that, by being rather lax in security, the males in charge hoped to discourage any female curiosity. The two entered the morgue, and saw the chilled chambers built into the back of the room, sitting at a forty degree angle, only one of the six sealed behind metal shutters.

"What do you think?" Kae'Arah motioned to the chamber in question, and then to the security panel nearby.

"If you're asking if I can hack into that computer and get the shutters open…" Chara smirked, and pulled out her compressed Vidar polearm. "I'd tell you I can hack in, alright."

With the flick of her wrist, the polearm extended, and the blade popped out. Bracing herself, she shot forward holding the weapon close to the head for leverage. It wedged into the seam between the shutters on the first try, a testament to her accuracy and control, but it still wasn't enough to get it totally open. Hitting the pommel with her left hand, she drove it in a bit more, and started to inch it inwards and downwards.

"You're making a lot of noise…" Kae cautioned.

"I know that!" Chara forced the blade it a little more. She didn't dare trying to move it to the side, in case it broke in half. Satisfied it had a good position, she reached higher up on the weapon, to the mounted controls, most of which were related to the degree of twist put into two inlaid rings around where it was supposed to be held. Activating one feature, the polearm started to vibrate and the blade began to heat up.

With a groan, the shutter lock was broken, and the metal guards flung open.

Chara quickly pulled back the polearm and deactivated the vibration and heat. Holding it carefully out of the way, she approached the now open casket. Kae quickly came up as well, from where she had stood by the door.

"Alright!" Chara began to pull back the plastic cover that had been behind the metal. "Let's see what all this fuss is about… Lords of the Ice! Look at this!"

"What is…?" Kae finally saw it, and she gasped, recoiling instantly. "What is that!"

Before them lay what looked, at first glance, like a human. A female, too, which came as a shock in and of itself. Both had previously assumed males were experimentation on themselves or their overlander counterparts. But this was without a doubt female. She was as generally furless as human females tended to be, except for her hair, which was long and light brown. It was difficult to tell her age, since humans matured more slowly than kitsune, but she was likely between twenty and thirty years of age.

The disturbing part of the find was, first, that instead of the small, flat ears humans normally had, this one had large, triangular vulpine or lupine features. Further down her body, around her collar bone, there were small tufts of isolated white chestfur. Reddish brown hair, like that Kae had all over her body, grew only on this girl's forearms. Her hands were free of it, starting at the wrist, but her hands themselves ended in wicked claws instead of thin nails. Beneath her body, both kitsunes saw two bushy and healthy vulpine tails, ending with white tip.

"Are you impressed?" A voice came from behind them. Chara, without even seeing who had spoken, had her polearm at the ready as she spun.

By the door, Thandothane himself stood, his arms crossed.

"Oh? You didn't realize it?" He asked, and smirked cruelly. "The silent alarm, I mean."

"Damnit," Chara cursed, caught between her urge to defend herself and Kae, and her absolute certainty that Thandothane was far outside of her league.

"My Liege…" Tandothane's aide spoke up from behind the door, where he stood with two other males.

"Stand back, all of you. Don't you realize who this is?" Thandothane uncrossed his arms, and took a step towards them. "This is the Mistress of Vidar. This is Tempest's little sister. I shall handle this."

His fingers curled and uncurled. "What a pleasure to see you again, Chara. When was the last time we met? At my son's wake, as I recall?"

"What are your intentions, Na'Tukaido?" Chara added a hint of politeness, not ashamed to at least try placating him a bit.

"To subdue you. Of course I can't let you leave here, having seen what you just did." Thandothane didn't laugh, his expression didn't even change.

"What is the meaning of this?" Chara inclined towards the corpse behind her. "What are you doing here?"

"I am creating the future of our race. No: MY RACE. The strongest are the most desirable, and these Newtypes will prove more useful to me than any of you females. As a bonus, it will give me the opportunity to justify unraveling your entire scheming sisterhood. That is what I have begun here, young lady."

"The others will never stand for it!"

"We shall see…" Thandothane took another step. "Will you surrender? Will you submit and bear your neck?"

"Make me," Chara snarled. Behind her, Kae, rather more overawed, just nodded in defiance.

"How amusing, the way your brother coddles you. Allow me to show you what it means to truly face an Ephor Anthal of the highest standing." Thandothane's presence seemed to grow, and his pupils grew small as his psionic and physical power flexed. Chara tried not to look at his face, or in his eyes, but it was an irresistible urge, and the moment she did, he seemed to be just inches away from her. She wanted to jump back, wanted to cover herself, or put her weapon between them, but it was impossible. Her muscles refused to respond, refused to move.

His presence was frightful, overwhelming, and her body began to feel numb, like it had been put on ice. He loomed, unassailable and unbeatable, and behind him she saw the screaming faces of all those he had slain. They howled and cried in tortured agony, their final moments relived over and over. She could imagine herself, in a thousand ways, destroyed by this demon that stood before her.

She sought refuse in her mind, in her discipline, in her training, in her experience. She built those facets of herself up, made them into a moat, a wall, battlements. It felt as if the weight of the world had fallen on her, and the urge to give in and collapse was almost more than she could bear, but she stood. On weak legs, she stood, and just like that it was over, and the world returned to normal. Next to her, Chara could see that Kae had already been knocked out by the sheer power of his battle presence, and of his mental assault.

Facing him, she saw that Thandothane hadn't even moved.

"So terrifying…" she whispered, in open awe. Tempest had never done that before in any of their sparring matches. "It was like my blood had turned to ice, my muscles pulled to the breaking point, my nerves severed."

"What you felt was the Hand of Death, which follows in my wake," Thandothane explained, calmly, and began to walk closer. "To be Ephor Anthal, one must master that technique, and demonstrate it before the Council of Elders. You see now, the true and undeniable power an Ephor must have to rule an entire Clan without question."

"However…" Here, he did smile. "Understand that I went easy on you just now. Your companion is much weaker than you are, and I said I only wished to subdue you. The true power of an Ephor Anthal of the highest standing is to kill with only the intention of doing so."

"I… won't submit to you…"

"Then I will make you submit. Assume whatever defensive stance you prefer."

He paused in his words, in marginal surprise, to see her shifting into the attack. Chara took two steps, and lunged, using the Flying Lightning Edge her mother had taught her. It combined the extension of the polearm with a centrifugal acceleration about the waist, together with an acute upwards jab. In a restricted environment, it was one of her more advantageous moves against an apparently unarmed opponent. He had nothing to block the blow, and would be forced to dodge it, at which point she would counter attack with…

Chara almost fell forward as the polearm in her hands came to a sudden and abrupt stop. Eyes wide, she saw the cause: Thandothane had stepped forward, into the attack, and seized the blade at its base, stopping the tip a good ten inches from any part of his body. She couldn't believe it; hadn't imagined that it could be done. Why had Tempest never… then she realized that she had used this technique before when her brother was unarmed, since she had thought it too dangerous.

"Attacking an Ephor head on with a technique like this?" Thandothane sneered. "How naive you are."

He squeezed, twisted with his wrist, and pushed her back with only his right arm. A second later, the bladed head of her polearm detached, the connecting seals broken, and the fixating parts falling uselessly to the ground. Chara staggered back, staring at her now blade-less polearm, reduced to little more than a broken staff.

Thandothane calmly dropped the bladed end at his feet.

"Damn you!" Chara spun the remains of the weapon, striking the floor several times in a spray of sparks. With a final strike and a flourish, she was confident that the end was sharp enough for her purposes. It was suicide to hold back, even if he had said he was only going to subdue her. She had to use her best techniques, her highest tier abilities, even if they were supposed to be reserved for only serious life or death fights. Ideally, the killing moves of any high rank kitsune would remain a secret, and this give an advantage in a fight, but now was not a time to be prideful.

She tapped her foot once, twice, surveyed the room, and disappeared in a flash.

The males behind him gasped in surprise and admiration, but Thandothane simply took another step forward, and without warning, lashed out with his left hand. It was an easy, almost effortless, backhand. A blur fell away from where he had hit something, and Chara's makeshift pike embedded in the wall with a thunk. She ended up on the opposite end of the room, skidding and hitting a wall herself. The power of the blow had stunned her, but she quickly got back up, tapped her foot, and Blink Stepped.

"You're slower than my son was..." Thandothane commented, blithely. He jabbed at seemingly thin air with two fingers, and Chara fell back and rolled on the ground, holding her left side.

"What a sloppy Blink Step you have," he remarked, and watched her with cruel orange eyes. "I wonder: did Tempest teach you the Blink Dance as well? Perhaps I should educate you in its proper execution."

"Ugh," Chara grunted in pain, and tried to work circulation back into her left arm. Thandothane had managed to hit a nerve cluster, even with her Blink Stepping. She wasn't sure even her brother could manage that. She struggled to get back on her feet, keeping her eyes on him the entire time.

Slowly, he lifted his left heel off the ground.

Chara never saw him move. She knew about the Blink Dance, from her brother, and she had seen it before – which was to say, she had seen him do the move, but she had never actually been able to follow his moments. Rather, she felt him to her left, felt him to her right, felt him above her and behind her. A second later, he had his back to her, back in the same place he had stood in before, his left heel still just off the ground.

Chara sucked in a single breath, before falling on her face, unable to move.

"Impressive as always, My Liege!" She heard the Tukaido aide gush over his master.

"Be silent and gather these two spies," Thandothane replied, in a typical growl. "Bring them to the main complex. They are weak, but may prove useful in putting our Newtypes to the test."

"…" Chara wanted to scream her defiance, but even her throat was paralyzed.

"And… should Tempest persist in his intrusions, I will deal with him as well. I expect that fight, at least, to be quite the challenge." She heard footsteps, and he was gone. She closed her eyes, and felt one of the males hoist her up and take her away. She couldn't believe how badly she had lost. Was that truly the power of an Ephor Anthal, without restraining himself?

Or was Thandothane simply a monster in the guise of a kitsune?

Like nothing before, like never before, she was scared to find out.

* * *

Charmy hadn't known what to say, so he said nothing, and wondered if his strange guests would leave. When they didn't, he sighed and tapped a small hidden button in the inside of his throne. It seemed that these two intruders were quite real, and possible assassins. One of them was an echidna, which made that even more likely. 

It simply boggled the mind how they had gotten through Goldenhive and into the royal chambers. Either way, that hadn't struck to kill him, or wisely retreated, so he would force the situation into a conclusion. While he had learned the value of it, patience was not his strong point. It never had been.

A dozen guards flooded into the royal hall, where Charmy had been alone, mulling over war reports. Sure enough, they saw the pair in the middle of the chamber: one with a cloak covering his body, the other a female echidna with the hood of her clothes pulled back, enough to make her identity obvious. The guards didn't utter a warning, they just fired.

The, echidna however, would have nothing of it.

She held out her hands, and the bolts from the Xialjyet weapons curved around the pair on both sides. Without losing their speed, they continued and ended up hitting the guards on the side opposite where they had been fired. Almost in unison, the elite soldiers fell to the ground, dead.

"You've improved," the hooded figure noted.

"Redirecting something is easier than stopping it," the female explained, but smiled at the praise.

"This is true. The finesse you used, however, is impressive," his voice was male, and Charmy recognized it halfway before he had finished his sentence.

"You're dead," he told the hooded figure. With a grunt, he rose from his throne.

"I did die, this is true," the hooded one replied.

"Why are you here before me?" Charmy asked, and kept his voice calm. Inwardly, however, he was afraid. What were these two doing here? Had they come to kill him? He was, after all, one of the Xialjyet 'tyrants.' Worse, one was an echidna, an enemy of the Xialjyet, and the other had always been a staunch friend of Knuckles and Echidnapolis.

"That's hardly the gushing, overjoyed welcome I'd expected, Prince Charmy."

"I had to put up with the others in the Chaotix bossing me around because of my age and my size; I didn't need it from an outsider like you, Tails." Charmy gestured to the room around them. "This is Goldenhive. I don't take orders anymore."

"I suppose so," Miles didn't quip about that last part, and for a few seconds, the two stood in silence. While it wasn't accurate to call it animosity, it was no secret that Tails and Charmy hadn't gotten along well in the past. Unlike with almost everyone else, he had assumed seniority over the former bee prince, and Charmy of course, had not been open to giving Tails the 'honor' of telling him what to do. Even when it had been reasonable or wise.

They had been the 'kids' of their respective groups, and now, they were the ones with power and authority. Theirs had been conflicting ambitions and egos, and the competition to not be considered last. To not be seen as the kid, to not be underestimated and made light of. They had worked together, but they had never been friends.

"Well. You cheated death. I can't say I'm surprised," Charmy finally said. "I'll ask again: why are you here? Out of all the people on Mobius, I can't imagine you choose me to hang out with. I never did bother to get a Playstation or Dreamcast, and you know alcohol kills my kind."

"I'm here to help you, actually," Miles responded without sarcasm. "I…"

Charmy laughed, regardless. "You? Help me? Why would…"

"Would you shut up and listen?" The echidna female asked, her voice pointed. Charmy glowered at her.

"Thank you, Lara," Miles inclined his head to her. "Listen, Prince Goldenhive. I am here to help you. To help you crush the echidna, and then, the other Princes. Except your friend in Nickelhive, I suppose. As to why I do this, it is because it serves my purposes. What better reason is there than that it benefits me in some way?"

"Understand I don't want this for myself," Charmy obviously took offense at how his guest had phrased his ambitions. "There can only be peace on Angel Island if one power rules over it. The other Princes would destroy the echidna, and the Echidna would turn the hives into rubble, and trample our eggs into the ground. Only I can bring peace. Only I can forge an understanding between the races of Angel Island."

"Don't underestimate yourself," Lara joked.

Charmy scowled at that. "You want to say something? Say it."

Lara didn't even wait for Miles' approval before speaking, "You're not totally wrong. Angel Island is small, and everyone wants as much of it as they can. The animosity between the stronger powers and races is also very true. However, I find it surprising you consider total conquest and the rule of Goldenhive the only option for peace."

"Any treaty with the echidna would only delay the inevitable."

"What makes you think the echidna would accept you as… as what, exactly? What would you be to them? An occupier? A new King? You won't live very long after you breed, is your mate ready and willing to handle ruling over a subjugated people in your stead? Do you think the echidna will accept her as their legitimate leader?"

"The echidna can be tamed…"

"Oh yes," Lara replied and nodded in an exaggerated fashion. "The dingo did it, didn't they? After the Carnivore War? They repressed the echidna for three hundred years, taking the richest lands in Downunda, and extorting tribute in gold and slaves. Theirs was undoubtedly an iron fist, but even then, the echidna had limited self rule. And even then, in their most hated foe, the echidna had some social similarities."

"Are you saying that peace on Angel Island is impossible?" Charmy seemed to give credence to what she had said, and seriously consider it. "That, eventually, one side must destroy or displace the other?"

"What I'm saying is that I don't think you can have it your way with the echidna, even if you do win. You don't have anyone to follow you. You don't have the political or economic structures to integrate the two societies, and you can't seriously expect the echidna or any of the other minor races of Angel Island to become perfect little Xialjyet drones, do you?"

"Well said, Lara," Miles commented, and gave a light laugh. "It seems I may not have needed to come in person at all."

"I did tell you I could handle it myself."

"Well, let's see what my old acquaintance here thinks first. This may still turn into a wasted trip, if he doesn't want any assistance…" Miles glanced up at Charmy with one fierce blue eye.

"I'll… I'll hear you out," Charmy relented, after only a few seconds pause. "Tell me what you can do for me, and what I can do for you."

* * *

Returning from their visit to the Lord of Goldenhive, Miles noted Lara's pensiveness. He shook his head, his mouth a tight line. It was obvious that, despite her earlier performance, she was troubled by what they had set into motion. 

"What must be done… can be done no other way," he assured her, and himself. "The responsibility is mine, for what is to come."

"No," Lara cut in, quickly. "No. The responsibility is ours. That's how I want it to be."

He just let out a deep breath, and left it at that.

"If I could, I'd like to visit him," she then remarked.

Miles didn't look happy with her decision, but he respected it. "You can go see him, but be careful. You know what we have planned. I will see to our new… guest."

"In that case," she started to walk off, but waved over her left shoulder. "I think you're the one who has to be careful."


	27. Tornado of Souls III

"A twenty two year old unidentified gang member turned Mogulian cultist went berserk last night, opening fire with a twelve gauge shotgun in a crowded downtown restaurant. Eleven mobians are reported as dead at this time, including three children. The suspect made no attempt to flee the scene, and was gunned down when police arrived. One officer is reported wounded, none killed."

"Royal sources have confirmed that military arms inspectors have been expelled from Mercian territory for the second time in as many months. This action coincides with a breakdown in negotiations between the rebellious province and Mobotropolis over border and trade disputes, as well as the lingering issue of Disarmament. Against the wishes of the King, Mercia has refused to disband its military infrastructure, reduce its standing army, and integrate what remains into the Mobian Armed Forces. Windfall's representative, the Earl de' Forrester, has previously indicated that Mercia will never approve any Decree that leaves it 'unable to defend itself from aggression.'"

"A proposed law limiting medical experimentation on animals is expected to be delayed, but still ratified, pending an audience with the King and the Interior Ministry. Animal rights activists have been pushing for the acceptance of this bill since before the end of the war. In recent months, they have taken part in mass demonstrations, which have grown increasingly aggressive in scope, though smaller in scale. A spokesman for the Interior Ministry had this to say…"

* * *

The nurse smiled pleasantly, and loaded up the appropriate information on her computer. In front of her desk, the remaining Chaotix, plus Julie-Su, waited eagerly for news of their friend and leader. Of the group, Charmy was the only absence, since the return of Mighty just days earlier. He had been off island for several months, investigating a string of murders he had believed to be the work of a dragon, or dragons. He had slowly been making his way back when he'd heard of the war, and who had begun it.

Espio watched his friend carefully. Mighty had been more than upset, more than angry, at Charmy, when he had walked into the Chaotix Office – he had been furious. It was understandable. He had been the one to find the bee, to vouch for him and bring him into the Chaotix. Espio remembered well how proud and happy they had been for their young friend when he had returned home, and accepted his responsibilities to the Bee Realm. He had even had a fiancée, and there had been much joking about who he would ask to be best man for the inevitable wedding, and much ribbing in that Charmy would hook up before Knuckles or Vector did.

Espio had often privately wondered what had transpired to force Charmy into this turn of events. He was less eager to assign blame to the bee than the others. By nature, he was more level headed then Vector, and more want to think things through than Mighty. He had researched the organization of the Quaz Xialjyet and the Bee Realm as much as he could since the first attack, and he couldn't help but wonder if the other Princes had pressured Charmy into joining them. From what he could tell, Charmy did not lead the Xialjyet itself: this Kenichi character did.

Unfortunately, there was still so little available information.

Not so much because it was being restricted from public review, but because the Hives were secretive and isolationist. Yet, however nice it was to think that Charmy was not a willing belligerent in this war, he could not discount that perhaps the bee was doing what he was out of pure self interest, and out of concern for the future of his people. Espio, too, had worried about the future of the chameleons of Angel Island. Aside from a small population in Downunda, most made Angel Island their home.

They, too, were a secretive and isolationist people who preferred not to attract attention. As a result, they were not as integrated into the Echidnapolis Sphere as Vector's breed was. Chameleons were under-represented in all forms of business, and while they were eligible for public education, they young members of his breed rarely attended. Instead, they lived in self contained rural areas, growing poorer while the rest of the Island grew wealthier.

Could the Hives have had a similar dilemma? Could Charmy have been faced with the possibility of either failing his people or betraying his friends? Or, as so many said, had Charmy simply been a spy the whole time? Had he always planned to attack Echidnapolis? Was he truly a power mad dictator, out for his own aggrandizement?

"The Guardian has made an astounding recovery, according to Doctor Lee. It says he's well enough to see visitors. Let me just page you in…"

"Thank you, ma'am." As usual, Vector was polite to ladies (minus Julie-Su). Espio would have preferred if he was polite to everyone, but such was the nature of wishful thinking.

A few seconds later, the nurse gave then the go ahead and the group took an elevator up to the fourth floor of the hospital where the Guardian had been taken to for treatment. His status was not public knowledge, but the Chaotix had been informed because of their close association with him. The details, however, were something no one seemed to have.

Remington had been kind enough to provide security for the fourth floor in general, and around Knuckles' room in particular. Sadly, there were just too many villainous types who still harbored the Guardian ill will. Even the Dark Legion, supposedly reformed as it was, was no friend of Knuckles. Or at least Espio didn't think so, though there seemed to be some sort of understanding now between the last Guardian and his great uncle Dimitri.

The two guards on duty allowed them in, and they saw Knuckles sitting on his hospital bed, facing the window that looked out over Echidnapolis. There were newspapers strewn about, along with several magazines and a handful of half open books. Knuckles himself had his arms bandaged, and white gloves on, but seemed to be intact. This was both a surprise and a blessing, since they had been told that, when he was found he had been half dead.

How had even Knuckles healed so quickly?

Their old friend turned slightly to look behind him, and greeted them with a casual smile. "Hey, guys."

"You're ok," Julie said, before any of them could react. Then, when the relief at seeing him in one piece passed, she added, "You really had us worried, you know."

She sat a short distance away on the bed, and the male members of Chaotix came closer, but didn't immediately intrude between them. Espio eventually hung back to give them all room. Vector, of course, opened up with a boisterous laugh, and a comment about how Knuckles' head was hard enough to survive an extinction level event, and Mighty quickly apologized for not being around. He then went about explaining what he was up to, and Knuckles just nodded in understanding, agreeing that tracking down this dragon had been the right thing to do at the time.

And then, Vector asked him about Tikal.

"Tikal is dead," he replied, and went back to looking out the window. "Really dead. The Master Emerald is in the hands of… a new enemy. Haven had been destroyed, totally. My father, my grandfathers; they are all dead as well."

He had said it so… casually. So effortlessly.

"Knuckles, I'm so sorry…" Julie reached over, and rested her hand on his shoulder. "Is there anything…?"

"Someone took the Master Emerald?" Espio immediately centered on the one problem in that list they could actually solve. "Was it Mogul? Dimitri?"

Those were really the only two possibilities, since no one else knew where Haven was. Knuckles didn't respond at first, and Espio privately wondered if he had been too abrupt in his questioning. However, from his body language, from his posture, Espio could tell that his friend wasn't in grief over the losses in Haven. If anything, he seemed supernaturally calm after a situation that would traumatize so many.

"Espio!" Julie snapped, more obviously annoyed he had gone right to business, rather than try and talk about Knuckles' losses. Julie understood Knuckles a lot of the time, but she didn't here. Even if he was in pain, he wouldn't have wanted to talk about it, or be pitied for it.

Knuckles made a curt laugh, as much a grunt as anything.

"Mogul… he's dead too. So no: he doesn't have it. And neither does Dimitri."

"Mogul is dead?" Vector asked, a little incredulous. "Are you sure? He's supposed to be immortal."

"What happened back there, anyway?" Mighty added in. "The Guardians, The Emerald, Tikal, Mogul…?"

He laughed again, a strange reaction, considering what had happened to the Master Emerald, if nothing else. Knuckles had always been protective of it to the point of paranoid obsession. Now it was gone, and he was laughing cheerily about it?

"I'm not too worried about that right now," Knuckles admitted, and again gave them an effortless smile. "You could say… what I need of the Master Emerald, I have within me already."

That was an odd statement. Espio wasn't sure what he had meant by it, and from the looks on the others, they weren't sure either. Knuckles' powers were tied to the Master Emerald intimately. Did this mean that he had absorbed the Master Emerald's power, leaving a shell behind for this new enemy to take? It seemed plausible, in a way, and it would help explain the echidna Guardian's fast recovery rate.

"So…" Espio ventured. "You don't want to go looking for it?"

Knuckles waved his hand in an up and down dismissing gesture. "Nah! Don't worry about it." His expression darkened. "After all, there are other matters to attend to, right here and now."

"What do you mean?" Mighty asked, taking a seat in a nearby chair turning it around so he could cross his arms over the headrest.

"When I first heard about all this – about the war that is – I was very upset. Very angry," Knuckles ran his hand over a newspaper with a headline referring to the new southern front in the war. "However, there is another aspect I have come to see as equally important. I'm talking, of course, about how we have been betrayed by one of our own."

"Yeah…" Mighty agreed, his face set in a dark frown.

"My feelings are that if a people, like these Xialjyet, want war… then we should give them one. This is no different than any other fight we have had over the years. We will beat the enemy because it is what we do, what we must do. What can not be forgiven, however, is betrayal."

"Charmy is one of us, that will never change. And yet, he is also our enemy. This makes him our responsibility," Knuckles slowly crushed the paper in his hand, his tone of voice growing stormier. "I will not forgive him. We should not forgive him. I trust you all agree?"

Mighty did, and nodded. "That's how I feel, too."

Vector wasn't as quick, and he took up a thoughtful pose. "I suppose."

Julie, like Espio, kept silent.

"What do you propose we do?" Espio finally asked.

"We must all do what we can, not simply to defeat these Xialjyet, but also to settle our personal account with Charmy. First, Espio, since you asked…" Knuckles crumpled up the paper and tossed it into a waste bin. "I want you to be my trash man. I want you to assassinate Charmy Bee."

Julie made a small gasp, but with the tension in the atmosphere, no one seemed to notice. Rather, they all seemed to be looking at their resident spy and stealth master. Espio didn't like the feeling he was getting, about this order, or about the reception it was getting.

"You want me to be an assassin?" He asked, only then realizing how stupid a question it was.

"You're the most qualified," Knuckles replied, casually.

"I didn't hone my skills to be an assassin," Espio objected, but kept his tone low and quiet. "I don't think this is the approach we should take. If we can talk to Charmy, come to some sort of…"

"Espio," Knuckles interrupted, raising his voice just a little. "If you do not use your abilities to their utmost, then you are wasting them, and you will never reach your potential. Now. Will you please do as I have asked?"

"I… I appreciate the faith you have in my abilities. However, I must follow the code of honor that gives me pride in my skills. Without that pride, I would be nothing more than a killing machine, devoid of a soul. That is what I think." He lowered his head, feeling as if he had let them all down. "I'm sorry."

"How disappointing," was all Knuckles said on that subject, and he went back to looking out the window. "Perhaps, later, you will come to your senses. The rest of you: will you come with me; will you help me seek justice?"

"I'm in!" Mighty shook a fist, eager to jump into a fight he felt was justified.

"I'll do what I can," Vector also relented. "We've gotta stick together after all, right?"

"I… I guess I'll come, too." It took a few seconds, but Julie also gave in, sounding mre placid than Espio was used to. He knew they had strong feeling for each other, knew Julie loved Knuckles, and knew there were precious few people she could trust, much less love, in her life. She would follow him, despite everything. In spite of everything.

"Sorry," Espio offered, again. There had always been a certain charisma to Knuckles, despite his often abrasive attitude and his obsession with duty, and that charisma had drawn others to him. Made them loyal to him. He hadn't been raised to be a leader (quite the opposite in fact), but in the end, he had become one.

"It's quite alright, Espio," Knuckles said, and got up off the bed. He and the others silently walked past, but before they were gone, Knuckles added, over his shoulder. "I know, in time, you'll seek me out. And I'll be waiting."

"See ya later, man," Vector patted his friend on the back. "No big, ok?"

Mighty gave him an ambivalent look, which almost seemed to imply he thought Espio was afraid to try and fight Charmy and the Xialjyet. And then, he too was out of sight, following Knuckles. Julie-Su was the last, and to his surprise she hugged him. Espio, unused to personal contact, stiffened a bit at first, and she only tightened the embrace.

"You made the right choice," she whispered to him. "Good bye."

And just like that, she let go, and ran after the others.

Espio stood alone in the room and wondered, sadly, if she was right.

* * *

"…hundred and seventeen pounds of pure Ginger were recovered, along with a small amount of Dust, Black Ginger, Refined Cocoa, and _Cannabis sativa_ Hashish. Nineteen individuals have been arrested, and face a variety of charges, from purposeful endangerment, and smuggling contraband, to possession with the intention of trafficking. The Ministry for the Prevention of Vice and Deviancy has also expressed an interest in charging the offenders with Moral Aberrancy and Misconduct."

"The Kingdom of Acorn came to loggerheads with the Terran Protectorate again today over ownership of the crashed Nor'easter, with spokesmen on both sides accusing the other of sabotage, and the theft of the Chaos Emerald that powered the mighty warship. When, last week, joint human and mobian engineers announced that sufficient power could be restored to the ship to get it airborne in three months, pressure increased on both sides to find a solution to who would ultimately crew the vessel. Both parties have hinted that they would destroy the ship before letting the other assume control over it."

"Fighting broke out overnight yesterday between rival factions on the Mercian-Trans-Charon border. Initial reports indicate that the Royal Air Force launched a reprisal early this morning, hitting a guerilla base on the Mercian side of the Tiger River killing at least forty six soldiers and twenty two civilians. The Duchy of Mercia followed up today with an official protest from Grand Duke Windsor Windfall. This comes just two weeks after Mercia announced that it was continuing with wartime conscription, in defiance of King Acorn's ultimatum to disarm."

* * *

Sally took one last look at herself in the mirror, and left for her Court appearance. Replacing her usual vest, she was instead wearing a violet and black gown that flowed down to the floor. Sally had never had to endure anything quite like the experience of putting it on. Even with two attendants, it had taken over twenty minutes to put on to the satisfaction of the matron her mother had assigned to her.

Twice before, in Court, she had to undergo the arduous process of preparation to adhere to her father's new dress codes for royal audiences. It wasn't that she didn't think the gown itself was beautiful, because it was, with crisscrossing patterns of golden lace over the wine colored layer, and a silver weave to the black layer on top of that, which gave it an ethereal quality. It clung tightly to her to hold itself in place and keep from slipping, since it was designed to leave her shoulders bare. She had been told it was naturally the finest of its kind to be had, perfect for the Crown Princess. So, despite her initial discomfort, it wasn't that she disliked it.

She simply wished it wasn't such a waste of time to put on.

She also wished, less vocally, that the Court would spend less time preening and trying to rekindle the days of Melchoir the Mighty (who had commanded that elaborate clothes were to be worn at Court as part of his decision to modernize mobian society), and more time dealing with the social problems facing the Kingdom. Reform was badly needed, in her opinion. Not that her opinion seemed to count for much with her father anymore, despite her efforts to gain his approval. If anything, her views had made him even less flexible than before in his approaches to governance.

Leaving the dressing room, her two assigned guards for the evening saluted primly. Both were female.

"This way, ma'am."

Sally let them lead her down familiar paths in the Grand Palace. This section of it was all essentially complete, and breathtaking in its extravagance. Despite coming out of a war, labor had been extremely cheap, even highly skilled labor. Ironically, if anything, the kingdom had left the war materially richer than he had begun it. Robotnick had been horribly efficient at excavating veins of resources and stockpiling them. The royal coffers were brimming with salvaged gold, confiscated and expropriated lands, and near state-run industries that had been handed out to political favorites.

It was little surprise how the more distant parts of the Kingdom resented having their wealth stripped to rebuild Mobotropolis, to fill yet more rooms with gold and crystal, train ever more soldiers and pay for their pensions. Worst of all, in her opinion, was that large tracts of the country were once more being handed out to those titled nobles who gained Royal favor (usually through bribes). While this had always been the economic system of much of the Kingdom, a holdover from feudal days, it was mind boggling some of the estates that were being accumulated. Some fiefs were actually thousands of square kilometers in size.

Of course, when she had pointed out that policy was reducing many small land owners into serfs, and cutting the legs out under the minor nobility who formed the basis of commerce, industry, and who even filled out most of lesser command roles in the military, she had been all but shouted down. The economy was doing fine, she had been told. Growth was twelve percent across the board. What was there to worry about? Every month, the treasury grew fatter and fatter.

It wasn't sustainable.

When her father had told her to briefly intern and learn from his Ministers, she had discussed the problem with Preston Dunn, the Minister of Finance, who had only confirmed her own conclusions. However, he had told her that currying favor and building up a power base were also important, and that reform could come later. Dunn had disliked haste, and while he had not agreed with what was being done, he had not resigned either. She could see that he was trying to be a moderating influence on the Court, but she didn't believe he would be very successful in his approach.

Her father should have begun reforms right from the get go, as soon as the Eggman Empire had been destroyed. Instead, he had wasted the opportunity in trying to recreate the past, and assure his own power. It wasn't responsible. It wasn't right. She only hoped there was a Kingdom left to inherit when her time came to sit on the Golden Throne, because she loved both the people and the Kingdom, and she had always believed that they were not mutually exclusive concerns.

She saw Sonic, with his two male escorts, and gave him a little wave in greeting.

"You look pretty dolled up there, Sal," he said with a sure smile.

"Speak for yourself," she replied, and beamed at how nice he looked. Sonic wasn't one for hygiene, sadly (it didn't help that he was a bit of a hydrophobe), but for Court appearances he had been forced to wash his quills and arrange them. As usual, he had picked out shades of blue to wear: lighter for the mandatory silk shirt, darker for the jacket over it. He seemed a bit uncomfortable, which was to be expected, given that he (like many males) had been used to going around wearing nothing more than shoes and gloves.

Which made his new ones stand out.

"They look…" she was about to finish when he cut her off.

"Like Shadow's gloves. I know. And I don't like it," Sonic grumbled, one hand over the other's wrist. The gloves themselves were the usual white, but each had a thin golden cord wrapped around the wrist like a bracelet. Still, they looked nice, which was the point, she supposed.

This was the first time Sonic had been invited to Court since the new rules had been passed, and as they walked, Sally hoped it was a sign of favor from her father. She was concerned about both of them, her father and her intended. While Sonic had not been as keen to wander off as he had before coming back from Angel Island, she was acutely aware of his growing anxiety regarding the Chaos Emeralds. It was unfortunate that none of the regular Emeralds had been seen since the destruction of Helios, and that the whereabouts of the Super Emeralds were also a growing mystery. She only hoped that he would be able to overcome whatever problems had come up.

"Ah… Sal. Um," he interrupted her thoughts, and seemed to be stammering. Quite unlike him. A quick look indicated the source of his nervousness, and confusion. And the blush on his cheeks.

"What? Is something wrong?" She teased, and moved her shoulders back and forth. The effort he put in looking in a more appropriate direction forced a giggle to her lips.

"How does… ah. It stay up? I mean keep from falling?" He scratched behind his head and looked down at his feet.

"I'm wearing a corset underneath," she explained, stifling further laughter. "I could jump up and down, and it wouldn't slip. Want to see?"

"Would you hold it against me if I said yes?" he asked back, and this time she blushed.

"I've gone years wearing only a vest. Why are they suddenly so interesting?"

"That's easy enough to answer!" Sonic, now in _male territory_, regained his confident tone of voice. "Clothes sometimes make females look exotic. Also, there's something exciting about opening a present rather than just seeing what you're going to get right from the start."

Sally could see the logic in that, even if it left her a little flushed. It wasn't that she had never thought of sexual matters (not at all that), but Sonic had never really mentioned what he liked or disliked before. While she and Sonic had been intimate before, and she had thought about being with a few other males as well over the years, she wasn't nearly as practiced in using her sexuality as many other females, and not just noblewomen. Rouge came immediately to mind, and even Bunnie was more proficient in it than the Princess of the Kingdom was.

A flood of thoughts came and went, all circulating around that oft-neglected aspect of herself, when the two entered the Royal Audience Chamber, though it was built as a rectangular cross, with the Dais or Throne at the head. At their entrance, the Royal Speaker announced them.

"Her Royal Highness Princess Sarah Alicia Jean Marie Bourbon of Acorn, at the request of Her Father the King," the Speaker had to take a breath after all that, but then continued undaunted. "The Royal Consort, Sir Sonic of West Island, at the request of His Majesty the King."

Sonic suppressed a groan when he saw who else was present and what they were doing. Sally's father sat on his throne, while her mother's seat went empty. This in itself was a bit unusual, but what was almost as unexpected was an addition to the throne itself: some sort of screen seemed to have been installed, further separating the monarch from those present. Looking closely, Sonic could see his shaded outline, but not much beyond that.

A band to the side was busy playing soft courtly music on a variety of instruments, the current piece having its tone set by a flute. It was pretty much the exact opposite of the sort of music the blue hedgehog preferred. It didn't help that he had no skill in ballroom dancing, and that he couldn't tell a marche from a glisse, much less pull off a proper pirouette. High above their heads, lights reflected softly off a thousand points of crystal bathed the gold hued marble and royal red finery in an ethereal glow.

Source alive, how uncomfortable he felt here!

Sally took his hand, and they went past the King, paying their respects and thanks. Oddly, he didn't reply, but instead waved them off. Sally, at least, knew how to work the room and make use of her time. Sonic contented himself with following, and grabbing a couple of the expensive little foodstuffs offered by wandering servants. Sally, meanwhile, met up with some of the King's Ministers, and their wives, and then they found Prince Elias and his commoner wife, and Sonic felt a bit less out of place among them given that he and Elias were friends, if not close ones.

More guests arrived to fill out the court, and Sonic tried to find any semi-familiar faces among them. At first there was only Geoffrey St. John, who stood by the Golden Throne like a loyal dog. Sonic looked for Hershey, who he would've thought also to be present, but never found her. Many other Secret Service agents were around instead, covering all the entrances and exits, and stationed in pairs all over the place.

Then Sonic heard a familiar name: that of his uncle Chuck, and the four of them went to greet the former robian and great court science advisor. Sir Charles no longer actually held that position, as he had refused it despite the offer of King Max. Sonic had always thought Rotor would assume the position, but the King had chosen someone else from his inner circle. They all exchanged pleasantries, and soon the conversation turned to personal matters which Sonic had only a passing interest in.

He would have preferred to spend his time napping in a tree.

Still, he wasn't here for himself. He was here for Sally's sake.

What must have been well over an hour later, well after everyone had arrived, the Royal Speaker announced that the time had come for the King himself to address the Court as to the reason he summoned them. The music stopped, and after some brief milling about, all the nobles and important persons gave their attention to the shaded mobian who sat upon the Golden Throne.

"Loyal Subjects of the Crown of Crowns, of the King of Kings, of the Golden Throne and the Sword of Acorns," King Max's voice was strong and sure, and it carried and reverberated throughout the great hall. "I look down before me, and I see the bulwark of our society. I see the foundation of our greatness and fastness as a nation. I have summoned you to bear witness to my commands for the purpose of putting to rest these troubled times."

"Those with open eyes can see the unraveling that is occurring, not just in fringe lands, not just on the Mercian border, but all throughout the Kingdom, and especially in the realms south and west of the Great Forest. A great warrior may die of not just a single wound, but a thousand pinpricks. We shall not permit Mercia to flout our demands, to build up its forces, or to throw off our suzerainty."

"We shall not permit smugglers and peddlers of ginger to take advantage of lawlessness in these regions, bringing with them the stench of moral decay. We shall not permit threats to our loyal subjects by former mercenaries or modern day brigands. We shall not permit the rise of unionized workforces, enclaves of socialists or anarchists, or any other organization which would tear down all we have built, fought for, and been given by our ancestors of a dozen generations."

"We shall not fail in our devotion to the Source or to our father's fathers, and so we shall not permit the rise of foreign religions on Our Soil. We shall not permit the rise of Mogulian Cults. We shall not permit the practice of Humanism, in any of its forms. And we shall not permit the heresy of the Ritual Church to lead our people astray. We are the Mystery of the Source Revealed, in the… Flesh. For all to see. False Faiths have no place in Our Eyes."

"My commands are this," The King finally said, and the crowd murmured in anticipation of his words. "There will be no more compromises. The time to negotiate with those we should dictate is past. Only the strongest hand may grasp the reigns of the Kingdom, and only an Iron Fist can hold them. Mine will be that Fist. Mercia has taunted us for the last time. When my ultimatum passes in eleven hours, I will order my soldiers to enter Mercia, and to oust the Grand Duke. He will be brought before me, and he will bow before justice is delivered to him."

There was even more quiet murmuring at that, excited talk about settling accounts. Sally just shook her head. "War…"

"Martial Law shall be enforced in all the southern and western Provinces of the Kingdom. The Ministry for the Prevention of Vice and Deviancy has assembled lists of those guilty of disloyalty, in action or intention, and they shall be brought together and they shall know the hand of justice as it closes around their throats. Lastly…"

Behind the screen, the King hesitated, just a few seconds.

"Lastly, there is the matter of succession. As you are all aware, in his great wisdom, Xerxes the Golden decreed that all those to sit upon the Golden Throne were to be male heirs of the male line of the main family, following strictly the dictates of primogeniture. For a time, I had contemplated deviation from that mandate, but I have seen a New Truth. It is that Truth I shall reveal to you all tonight."

More drastically than before, the King's words had an element of finality and weight to them. While there was no denying the harsh tones and approach towards the problems he had highlighted, what he had said had really not come as a great surprise. Indeed, those present would have been shocked if he had changed the official position and attitude. This, however, had the undercurrent of something very different than the norm.

"The Truth is…" King Maximilian shifted behind the screen that obscured him. "That my daughter can not take the Golden Throne. Will not take the Golden Throne."

"Father!" Sally interrupted, yelling to him with a mixture of anger and worry. "What are you saying? That I cannot rule? That I am unfit to rule!"

"You are unfit," he replied, voice a deep rumble. "Both of you."

Elias recoiled, as if struck. His wife, Meg, clung fearfully to his arm. Sally looked about to say more, to object again, but her voice choked out and she turned away, tears in her eyes. It was that, seeing that, which turned Sonic's stomach. He couldn't bear to see her cry, no matter the cause.

"How dare you say that about her!" Sonic snarled, taking a step forward to place himself between King and Daughter. "Sal here fought for this Kingdom while you were trapped in the Void! We all risked our lives because you had to pick a fight with the overlanders, and when you couldn't win the war yourself, you picked the WORST ONE OF THE LOT to help you!"

Those around him quickly stepped back to distance themselves. None could believe what he had said, and in the King's presence. Sonic just continued, not caring what they thought or felt about what he had to say. The words, once they started, once they had crossed the Rubicon, became a torrent.

"And even though it was your fault, YOUR FAULT, the Eggman almost destroyed Mobius, we still saved you! Still brought you back! Still made you King! If not for her, you'd still be rotting away in the Void, and everyone here would be dead or roboticized!" Sonic swiped his fist through the air, ire rising. "I've listened to you criticize her, disagree with her, even demean her, because you don't like what she had to say! Well, pal; I sure as hell don't like what you're saying right now! And I don't give a fuck WHO you are - you'd better apologize, right now!"

For a few seconds, there was complete and utter stunned silence.

"You…!" St. John began to say, but before the words had even left his mouth, a slow laughter came from behind the screen. Geoffrey looked in the direction of the King, at where he new stood as a shadowed figure in front of the hidden throne. The skunk immediately shut up and backed off.

"The Hero of Mobius disapproves?" King Max asked sardonically, and with not a little cruelty. "Well. It is fortunate then, than Mobius no longer needs heroes. Much less an ailing commoner such as yourself. Know your place, Hedgehog, or be put into it."

"And whose gonna put me in my place? You?" Sonic smirked, and shot forward. "I don't know what you have behind there, but…"

Several of the guards moved to try and intervene, but none of them had weapons, and none of them had even a fraction of Sonic's speed. Geoffrey St. John, who was both quite fast and nearby, simply stood back and watched. Sonic took the opportunity presented, and jumped towards the throne, grabbing the shades that had been put up to obscure the King.

Then he saw something, and twisted at the last possible second, throwing himself to the side. A long line of blood streaked from his left cheek, just under his eye. He saw a blade, the Sword of Acorn, sticking out of the screen where he had just been. A millisecond slower, a fraction of an inch less, and it would have gone right through his eye and out the back of his head. As Sonic fell to the ground, one hand pulled down the barrier, and other braced himself.

The screen fell from the metal poles that had held it in place around the King.

"My daughter lacks the spine to rule. My son lacks the heart. And you… you lack the breeding. None of you are fit to wear this Crown." The screen fell, cut in half by the sword that still stuck through it. This slowed it down, however. Only after Max has said it, did the first bit of him become clear. And it was the great crown itself.

Or, it had once been the crown. Now, it seemed more like horns: four of them, one in the front, two to the sides, and one in back, curving out and up, golden metal that had once come together at the top now split apart. It seemed no less than the crown had exploded from the inside. Encrusted gems still glittered amid the gold, reflecting shadows and light.

The crown did not end; rather, it merged into what came next. Looking up, Sonic could see the face, see the familiar features, etched now into steel, and framed by the sharpened edges of what may have once been an expression of determination and fury. The eyes were gone, empty, and in the sockets glowed furious white energy, like lights in a skull. The rest of the body was little different, save that it also mounted the trappings and finery of royalty, the purples and the reds, the gold epaulettes and rope that hung under the right arm, and declared its wearer the master of all he surveyed.

What appeared like a gauntlet was simply an extension of the arm, and on the hand there were two rings. Sonic realized what that meant, just then. The Crown and the Ring of Acorns had both been worn when he had done this to himself, as had his wedding ring. They were a part of him now.

In the audience of assembled nobles, there were gasps.

One female screamed.

"Your place is at my feet, with the rest of my subjects," Max continued, as if not noticing that he had been revealed. "It is where you were born, and it is where you will die."

The blazing eyes stared at him, and Sonic felt the bands around his wrists tighten. More and more, till they bit into the skin, and threatened to pop his hands off like a flower bud. He screamed, and writhed on the ground, kicking wildly and flailing. With a shout, Sally ran to him, while Charles and Elias approached more warily.

"Now, you understand," Max said to the hedgehog, and then turned to the nobles. "My son is not fit to follow in the wake of his grandfathers; by his own admission he has no ability or desire to rule as the situation would demand it of him. Were this not such a dark and portentous time, I would still step aside for either of them, as was my duty, and as my ailing health implored me to do."

"So it was…" His mouth never moved as he spoke, forever frozen in a down turned scowl. "For the Kingdom. For the Golden Throne. I have instead chosen another path."

He held up a roboticized hand, the backs of his fingers serrated metal.

"For me, it was a path of pain, and loss, yet I went forward without fear, without hesitation, without remorse or regret. I have become an instrument of the Kingdom and of my fathers. I have become an Iron Scepter to dash our enemies to pieces; enduring and invincible, beyond the reproach of old age. That is what I have now become."

"Max!" Charles cried, and appealed to him with open arms. "Please! Stop this! What have you done to yourself!"

Max looked down at him expression forever unchanging. "This had to be done, old friend. To save the Kingdom."

"This wasn't, isn't, how it was supposed to happen!" Sir Charles lanced to his side, where Sonic still lay struggling on the ground. "This isn't what…"

"It is." Max moved with a speed that belied his new nature, placing a metal hand on Charles' shoulder. A heartbeat before the latter could so much as flinch from the cold contact, he gasped, as the pommel of the Sword of Acorns hit him in the gut. He coughed out all the air in his body, and fell flat on his face. Max caught him with his foot just before he would have hit the marble steps, before lowering him gently to the ground and standing back on both feet.

"This is exactly how it was supposed to happen. I'm sorry you couldn't see that, even now." The King turned to his children, and his sword rose up in a wide arc. There was a flash of contact, and a sound like a broken bell. The severed upper half of another sword spun through the air before hitting the ground, the tip becoming impeded in a sitting cushion.

Elias, standing opposite his father, stared down at his broken blade.

"Did you really think a common blade, no matter how finely crafted, could match the Sword of your Ancestors?" King Max held the flawless edge of that most precious family heirloom between them. "I am pleased you tried, however. It shows your resolve. Your determination."

"You have betrayed us all!" Elias snarled, showing uncharacteristic indignation. He had taken off his gloves, rightly assuming them to be trapped. "Including the memory of my father, the flesh and blood you, who fought so hard to rid us of the specter of roboticization! I won't let this be!"

"We won't let it!" Sally added in, standing up near where Sonic lay. She raised her hands, ready to fight weaponless against the unstoppable Sword of Acorns.

Max chided them with a chuckle. "You overestimate yourselves. Observe. I believe you know, abstractly, what this Sword is capable of."

In his hand, the long sword burned a fierce and icy blue, and instantly Elias fell to his knees, what was left of his own sword falling from limp fingers. He gritted his teeth, and tried to raise his arms, but it was hopeless. In seconds, he had gone from a normal state to one of complete exhaustion. He fell finally on his hands and knees, struggling for breath.

"Once I have touched another with this blade, even though a metallic medium, such as a sword or armor, I may drain them of energy. Mogul used this property to steal the chaos energy from Enerjack, do you remember, my daughter?" Max lowered the sword, and the glow faded. "How sad I must now use it to humble my own upstart children."

Sally clenched her fists tightly, trying to find a possible solution. With both Sonic and Elias down, she knew she had to at least try. Her fingers curled and uncurled, as she played through potential strategies in her mind. Her father stood like a statue, his sword in his right hand, the blade between them in a standard fencing posture.

"Avoid the blade. Avoid the blade. Avoid the blade…" Sally repeated it in her mind like a mantra, as she looked for a weak spot on her father's new body. Then, satisfied she had found it, she tensed to move, even with the restrictive clothes she had no time to shed. To the sound of gasps from the assembled nobles, Sally charged.

Her father lunged, and she ducked neatly away from contact with the sword he held. Instantly, his wrist began to rotate, to bring the flat of the sword down and into her side. Sally pushed off and down with her right leg, rolling forward and into what she had assumed to be a blind spot. It was the normal weakness of any sword, and especially a large one like he was using: from the wrist itself, and with the joints of the arm, it had a limited range of motion and engagement at any given time. To beat it, one had to enter a spot where the sword could not quickly move, and strike.

Still, she watched for a surprise, and found it in the form of the Sword's scabbard, in his left hand, the tip of which was headed right for her. Rather than striking up, she pulled back her arms, and hit the ground, propelling herself away. The scabbard tip hit the ground hard enough to crack the marble stonework.

She was out of his blind spot now, and they both knew it. Max pivoted, his whole body turning, as the sword cut a clean arc through the air. Sally did a split, lowering herself and flattening her body as the edge missed her by only inches. Without hesitating, she rose up, tucked her legs in, and propelled herself back at him with her arms. He was momentarily exposed, and in that instant, she struck, aiming to kick up and into his chin with both feet at full strength and maximum extension.

One of the weak spots of any robian is the head, and the often (relatively) weak attachment it has to the body. Still, he had had enough forethought to bring up his arm, and partially shield himself. Only one of her feet had actually hit him in the chin, the other mostly deflecting off his forearm. Still, his feet left the ground, if only an inch or two, before he slammed back down, his balance restored. Sally, meanwhile, kicked off him, and avoided another flat-edged blow thrown her way.

"Your skill in hand to hand combat is undeniable…" King Max admitted, lowering his arm to his side. "Even Rosie, your mentor, was never so swift, precise, or elegant in her movements and technique. I applaud and appreciate your effort."

"But…" he held up the sword, and again it glowed a glacial blue. Instantly, Sally felt it, the energy being drained out of her. She tried to stand, but her legs gave out, and she fell onto her side.

"Why are you so surprised? Didn't I just explain it?" Max tapped his chest with the sound of metal on metal. "Armor. Swords. Metal. These things conduct the effect of this magnificent Sword."

"No!" Sally shook her head. "But, then how…?"

He began to walk towards her, sword drawn. "The moment you touched me, you sealed your fate."

"Get away from her!"

Max looked past Sally and to his left, where Sonic was up on his feet, the wrists of his gloves were soaked with blood, but it seemed he had freed himself from the trapped bindings. By his feet, Elias's broken sword seemed to provide some of the answer as to how he had escaped. Max just raised the Sword of Acorns, as he had before.

"Is it wise to use up the last of your Chaos Energy like that?" The King asked, Sonic's reflection staring back at him from the flawless metal of the royal blade.

Sonic gave a start at that. "How…?"

"My eyes and ears are everywhere. Especially in places where potentially troublesome rats like to hide and work," The King replied, a note of pleasure in his tone. "In fact, I even happen to know where an Emerald is. Would you like it? All you have to do is… pledge yourself to me. You are still a knight of the Kingdom, and I am now and always will be King."

Sonic almost seemed to think about it. Or, more realistically, he thought about taking the Emerald and then betraying the King. But even that was a risk, and then there was his pride…! He shook his head, and the effort of turning down the offer was a greater struggle than he had ever expected.

"Fuck you!"

"How typically coarse and undignified," Max said with some satisfaction, and his sword began to glow. "Do you remember that cut on your face, fallen knight?"

Sonic did, and like water receding before a wave, he felt his energy sapped. It was shockingly sudden and thorough, as if a tap had been turned fully open, and every iota of power was spilling out of him uncontrollably. He tried to run, but he could only manage a few steps before his feet began to drag.

"Damnit…" Sonic looked up, defiantly, unwilling to bow his head.

Max just held out the Sword of Acorns, waiting.

"Damnit!" Sonic's legs gave out and he fell into his arms. "Damnit! Damn… it…"

When it was done, and the hero was spent, King Max lowered the mighty weapon, and in a single motion, sheathed it. With a single nod in the direction of St. John, the skunk and his Secret Service agents moved in to apprehend those who had defied their lord and King. Meg, who had been trying to revive her weakened husband, quickly found an agent by her side, and after a brief struggle, she deflated and gave up.

Maximilian the First faced his nobles.

"Such is the fate of all who stand before me. My Father is Frederic! My Grandfather is Melchoir! My ancestors are Xerxes and Alexander! I am the King of Kings and the Lord of All Mobian Lands!"

He raised metal hands in triumph, and the nobles, either out of fear or genuine support, cheered him. Behind him, Geoffrey St. John looked down from his liege lord, to the unconscious Princess in his arms. Like the others she was still breathing, still alive, but in no shape to do much of anything.

"This is… what has to be done…" he whispered, and with the other agents and their prisoners, he left the cheering room behind.

* * *

"At 0800 this morning, the Royal Air Force began a series of strikes at Mercian logistics bases and staging areas. Casualties at this moment are unknown, but assumed to be in the hundreds. A MAF spokesman has confirmed that mechanized units have crossed the border and begun operations to subdue Mercia and force its compliance with Royal Decree. The King has yet to draft a formal declaration of war, instead the Royal Press secretary called the action a 'domestic affair and not a conflict between nations.'"

* * *

Rotor cleared his eyes, and looked up from his computer screen. What was all that commotion outside his lab? Didn't his assistants realize that when he asked for silence and to not be disturbed, he was including them in that scenario? He was about to activate the intercom and ask, when the door suddenly burst open. Soldiers wearing baklavas stormed in, weapons aimed in his direction.

"Get down! Get down!" "Down on the floor, NOW!"

"What… what is…?" Rotor couldn't believe they were here for him. Was one of his assistants in the back in trouble? What the hell was going on?

"Hands where we can see im!"

Two of the soldiers roughly grabbed him and forced him to the floor. Shock slowly gave way to indignation, and Rotor began to struggle. It was, however, far too late. Not only was he outclassed in terms of strength and training, but from his position face down on the ground, hands cuffed behind his back, his options were seriously limited.

"What is the meaning of this!" He roared, shaking his head to try and lift his chin off the tile.

"Take him!" A soldier barked from somewhere above and behind him, and a second later Rotor found his eyes covered, and his mouth shut by duct tape.

* * *

"Operation Tiger drew overseas criticism yesterday, when the Prolocutor of the Republic of Albion, Gala-Na, indicated that the tiny nation state would 'look unfavorably on any Mobian troops that penetrated its new defensive perimeter, which includes the Mercian capitol city of Starlight.' Albion has not been alone in expressing support for Mercia, and her declaration has been echoed by representatives for other city states living in exile."

* * *

"Get your hands off me!" Rush thrashed back and forth, managing to elbow one of his assailants in the ribs. The damage it did through the soldier's flak vest was negligible, but at least it pissed him off. Rush almost doubled over as the butt of a rifle introduced itself to his gut.

"Yiffing prick!" Another blow, this time to the back of the head, punched out his lights for the evening.

* * *

"Witnesses near the scene of the confrontation reported the sound of gunfire from within the base, headquarters for the controversial Miles Militum Air Corp. Police were quick to evacuate the area, and have just issued a statement that local law enforcement, with the aid of Royal Troops, have suppressed an illegal arms deal to supply Cyclone War Machines to rebel elements in the southern territories. Given the classified nature of the facility and those involved, it is unlikely that more details will be forthcoming."

* * *

"How dare you think you can be getting away with thees?" Antoine stood tall between his new 'guests' and the angry looking half-cyborg in his bed. "Don't you know who I am! Who we are!"

The four soldiers parted, and a familiar face entered through the smashed open door. Outside, a siren blared among the thousands of pinprick lights that lit up Mobtropolis at night. Antoine's quarters were in the Queen's Wing of the Royal Palace, and with the Secret service given responsibility for the ball and meeting in the Royal Hall, it should have been a relatively uneventful nightfall for the Captain of the Royal Guard.

"We know who you are," the newcomer said, and looked up at them through dark mirror shades.

"Geoff?" Bunnie gasped from the bed, covering herself with one corner of the sheets.

"St. John!" Antoine's eyes wandered over to where his sword lay, in a place of honor by his work desk. It was too far to make a quick grab for. "St. John, what is the meaning of thees intrusion!"

"You'll have to forgive me, but… I have orders to detain both of you." He snapped his fingers, and the four soldiers, took aim, two at each of the Freedom Fighter legends. "Come along peacefully."

"If ya'll think those lit'l pea shoots scare me any…" Bunnie started to get off the bed, her metal feet hitting the carpeted floor with a thud.

Geoffrey St. John sighed. "A puppet's strings; the clockwork key turns."

"What?" Bunnie and Antoine asked, at the same time. And then the former gasped, her cybernetics seizing up – her arm locked in place behind her back, and her heels leapt back to meet the backs of her thighs. She fell forward with an undignified yelp. Antoine didn't hesitate; he ran to her side, and found her breathing slowly, but struggling to speak.

"What did you DO!" He whirled on St. John, his normally timid demeanor now completely gone and replaced by a look of fury and rage.

"By the order of his Illustrious Majesty, the King, all those with military grade cybernetic enhancements or modifications are also given two secret killswitches, in the form of phrases." St. John sighed softly, as if explaining it was annoying in and of itself. "The one I used incapacities her, specifically."

Antoine looked down at Bunnie, and then back at St. John. "You…!"

"Before you ask…" the skunk interrupted. "Yes: I also know the one that can kill her. Will you come along peacefully, Captain?"

"Damn you. St. John," Antoine nodded, and lowered his hands to the floor. Two of the guards moved forward, one with handcuffs.

"It isn't anything personal," he replied, and crossed his arms. "You're too close to the Old Order. A New World is being built, right here. Right now. You'll see what I mean soon enough."

In a minute, both the former Captain of the Royal Guard, and his lover, one of the Heroine's of the Resistance, were gone. Geoffrey St. John turned off the light before he left.

* * *

"Reports indicate that several divisions of troops have joined in the revolt; fighting continues around Casino Night, Gammorin, and Lyra, as Loyalist forces attempt to reassert control over these territories. Rumors persist that the King has been handed a drafted Declaration of Self-Determination from at least a half dozen cities throughout the southern half of Mobius. With the calling up of reserves and guardsmen in six Provinces, representatives of the Kingdom and the Terran Protectorate met today to ensure a state of peace between the two powers along their mutual border."

* * *

Lara couldn't say she got along very well with Fiona.

Well, the android Fiona, anyway, not the real one (who know what she was up to). This version, this construct, had been a member of the Eggman Empire, after all, a force notorious in even her native time. Lara trusted her, now, simply by virtue of the fact that 'she' also had an Emerald in her now, and 'she' had apparently been reprogrammed. Miles had assured her Fiona 2.0 was her closest ally, and she supposed it was true, but that didn't mean she had to like the android girl.

For a number of reasons.

Lara was sure, so sure, that she was Miles' favorite. He had even called her the First among all those he would eventually call to his side. For a time, she had had Miles, his attention and his power, all to herself, but then Fiona had showed up, been given an emerald (just like that!), and sent off to do important missions!

Was it because Fiona was an android that she had nothing to really learn about her new role? Or maybe the Emerald was just another weapon in her pre-programmed arsenal. Lara wasn't sure, but Fiona's instant ability and affinity with her new powers, and the fact that she had been given the responsibility of organizing more 'second tier' followers, made the echidna girl from the future more than a little jealous.

It didn't help how Fiona tended to act around him.

Or that Fiona treated her like a junior partner in what was going on.

Or that Miles let her go off and act completely independently.

All the time!

"Being jealous of a machine…?" The voice to Lara's right made a little huff, not quite derisive, but showing obvious disapproval or disagreement. Lara returned it with a roll of her eyes.

'Do you have to keep reading my thoughts?' Lara thought/asked. 'And she happens to be a very sophisticated machine. Nothing wrong with being a little jealous of what she can do.'

Tikal was sitting in a chair with her back to Lara, flipping through a magazine. At that, Lara balked.

'What are you doing?' Lara thought/yelled. "Don't use my powers to read that! What'll people think when they see a magazine turning its own pages!'

Tikal looked over her shoulder with a pout. 'Since we're sharing a body, its only fair I get to make some use of it…"

'We aren't sharing a body.' Lara gritted her teeth in growing frustration. 'You're freeloading!'

'I'm making you stronger. Please bear with me,' Tikal replied and went back to reading. Lara sighed in defeat. There wasn't much she could do about Tikal, at least at the moment. Nail had been lucky: he had absorbed Athair out of the Master Emerald when he touched it, and then had been able to return the elder echidna to his body. Tikal, who Lara had absorbed, had nowhere else to go.

They were separate beings in the same body; she could see Tikal and argue with her, but no one else could. She also had access to Lara's powers, as evidenced by her current activity. Tikal couldn't interact with the material world, but she could use Lara's emerald enhanced abilities to do so.

"It's pointless to be jealous of that fake vixen, anyway," Tikal went on from where she sat (but didn't really exist). "A machine can never master chaos control. Your potential far exceeds hers."

'Is that true?' Lara wondered loudly enough for her thoughts to be easily 'heard.'

"It'll take some time, though. And hard work. But I assume Mr. Tails choose you for a good reason, and not just because it was convenient." Tikal looked over her shoulder again and waved her hand in placating manner while laughing. "Just kidding! Kidding! You'll be fine!"

Lara groaned. This was like having an annoying little sister running through your mind. She just hoped Tikal stayed out of her dreams. After all, she was…

"I was fourteen before I became sealed in the Master Emerald, you know," Tikal commented, resting her chin on her right hand. "I'm not a little kid. And you come from such a prudish time, too! Back when I was growing up, most girls were married by your age."

'Then you've…? You were…?'

"_Yep_," Tikal said it slowly, and Lara could sense that she was grinning like a Cheshire cat.

Lara's cheeks turned as red as the rest of her body. 'Ok! I think I've heard enough on this topic! But we need to work out some rules here, between you and me! Like how to keep my private thoughts private!'

Tikal nodded her head, but went back to her own thing.

Lara calmed herself, and after a minute of silence, she looked over to the other source of her aggravation. Fiona stood nearby, with one of her new acolytes, a female cat named Hershey. While Lara really had nothing against this new arrival, who didn't even have an emerald or anything, the fact that Hershey was there under Fiona's wing was a little annoying.

"Are you sure she should be watching this?" Lara asked, and went back to watching Miles and Merlin work.

"Darling Miles wished her to be, in case she was needed for emotional … support." Fiona was also looking into the room before them, glowing with runes and chaos energies. Miles and Merlin were hard at work, trying to extract the Super Emerald from Drago's body. Lara could feel how the powers of the two masters pulsed and flowed, trying to draw out the Devourer's presence, while at the same time moving through Drago's memories and consciousness.

The trick, she had been told, was that Drago had to want to lose the power and support of the Emerald. Lara, of course, had then asked why anyone would want to be corrupted and turned into a monster like the Super Emeralds did. To which Miles had only shaken his head and said that she, more than he, should be able to understand what Drago was going through and what had to be done.

Lara had thought long and hard about that while she waited.

No matter how she tried to grasp it, she couldn't believe that Miles' chaos emerald was corrupting her, or changing her. It was a wonderful gift, and wonderful feeling, and wonderful sense of being and belonging! It was everything she had wanted and dreamed for. He was right, though, in that he didn't know what it was like. It was even possible he thought he had done her some wrong, and the next time they talked, she intended to try her best to express how strongly she disagreed with that notion.

To Fiona, however, she huffed. "When this works, we'll want to keep it a secret. What if she was captured by one of the Devourer's minions?"

"If it works," Fiona corrected. "It will stay a secret. I assure you."

"You don't have to talk over my head, you know," Hershey deadpanned.

"Sorry," Lara quickly apologized. Fiona did as well, a second later.

"It's just…" Lara searched for the words. "It's like a state secret, whatever they're doing in there."

"You don't know?" Hershey asked, sounding surprised.

"Only abstractly," Lara gave a little embarrassed laugh. "I'm really still learning, even after growing up with powers like this."

"What about you, Master?" Hershey asked Fiona.

Lara quirked an eyebrow. "Master?"

"Aside from the psychology aspects, I know exactly what's going on," Fiona explained, her eyes never leaving the room. "I'm recording the whole event as we speak. Darling Miles plans to review it later, to streamline the process for the next time."

Lara sighed, on the verge of bowing altogether to the android's near perfection.

"So, Hershey. Lara instead concentrated on Fiona's new underling. "I've been told Fiona picked you up specifically for this little project. This guy your husband or fiancée?"

"My ex," Hershey replied, with a little smile.

Fiona smirked at that. "I'm lucky I got to her in time, actually. She was on the MPVD Short List, since that mess in Cat Country."

"Cat Country?" Lara asked.

"Yes, but not in the way you think. I am feline, but I'd never been to Cat Country before," Hershey began to explain in brief. "St. John and I were sent to apprehend Rouge for some trumped up charges, mostly because the King wanted to take over Prower Dynamics… We chased her to Cat Country, and ended up stirring up a hornet's nest of a fight with the natives. My commander wanted to stay and fight, even though we were sure to be overrun, so I kinda… knocked him out and ordered a retreat."

Lara sensed there was more to it than that, but didn't press.

"I got discharged from the Secret Service for it," Hershey finally continued with the aftermath, a couple seconds later. "I was on my way to Casino Night when I was enlightened."

"Enlightened?" Lara shook her head. "Is that what you're calling it?"

Fiona shrugged.

"Well, I don't think…" Lara never finished her sentence. There was a sudden and dramatic surge of power in the other room. Both Merlin and Miles held out their hands and backed away from Drago, who seemed to be caught in a seizure, his arms and legs straining against their bonds. Then, without warning, there was a flash, and a large red ruby appeared over, but outside, of his chest.

Instinctively, Lara reached up to her collarbone, where another chaos emerald, much, much smaller but the same color, glittered in the reflected light. Back in the room, Drago slumped, unconscious, his chest slowly rising and falling. Fiona went in first, picking up the corrupted Emerald neither Miles nor Merlin dared to touch themselves. Hershey was right behind, and checked Drago for any other signs of injury.

Finally, Lara entered.

"Did it work?" she asked, hopeful of what she had seen, looking to the two vulpines she served for an encouraging answer. Merlin had his eyes closed, and an expression of concentration on his face. Miles, however, was smiling, and Lara found it contagious. He was confident, and so she became confident too.

"I think so," Miles Prower said, wiping sweat from his brow. "It took both of us, but I think so! We can save them, Lara! We can save Him."

Behind her, Lara saw Tikal looking concerned.

"He's optimistic," Tikal commented. "Eager. Just like when I first met him.'

'You're not convinced?' Lara mentally asked.

Tikal pivoted to face the ruby in Fiona's hands, her ethereal body tense. "No. With the Devourer, there are no assurances. No safe places or moments."

"Lara?" Miles asked, noting how her attention veered for longer than normal. "Is something wrong?"

"No," she gave him her attention and shook her head. "Nothing I can't take care of."

Just a few feet away, the crimson Super Emerald burned with an inner hate-filled fire.

"_Hopefully_," Tikal added.


	28. Tornado of Souls IV

* * *

Charmy watched Prince Argent posture and preen over the victories of his hive in the far northern theater of the war. He had done an adequate job, that was true, but against far less opposition than the other hives had been faced with. The north of the island was dominated by the dense Mushroom Forest. Part of it had been burned down during the Eggman invasion, but the combination of what was left, and the rough terrain, did make for slow progress. Frankly, Argent's job getting through the forest was more impressive than his supposed 'string of victories' against he echidna.

"And so," Argent finally began wrapping it up. "After Operation Vanity, we have not only severed all links between Echidna Romir, but completely besieged the city, driving a flood of refugees to the east which has made attempts at organizing a counteroffensive impossible for our foe. Barring a pathetic attempt at retaliation by Army Group D, we should have the city in a matter of days."

"This is good news," Prince Pierre admitted, over videoconference. Fully half the Princes were not present in person, but had to attend via an encrypted communication link. "Though you took you're time in saying it."

Charmy nodded, and looked up at the map of Angel Island, displaying all the Xialjyet forces in the field, and the latest intelligence about the echidna and remaining dingo. Progress had been made on all fronts, to varying degrees. Argent's progress in the north had been steady, and according to expectations.

Of course, Prince Kenichi had made a brutal and effective advance through the south, and against fierce dingo resistance. Charmy's intel indicated that the Yamato Hive was badly mauled, but that its Prince was still spoiling for a fight against the echidna. Prince Pierre had begun his assault against the Fireants of Formicadae, and had indicated that his engineers were making good progress, though losses were heavy. Goldenhive and Nickelhive had aided in the southern campaigns, but had maintained a support role and thus not suffered much at all.

"It is time to decide," Prince Ferric stated, from his seat opposite Charmy. "Hydrocity or Echidnapolis?"

"Finally, we come to the crux of this meeting!" Prince Taji snickered from his distant seat on the QAB _Java_, flagship of the Yellow Jacket Swarm. "Yes. Which one will be the first to be put to the torch?"

"Our forces in the south, which is to say our brothers in the Yamato Hive, could use some time to rest and resupply," Charmy ventured, his decision long since made.

"We are…" Kenichi started to argue, also from his distant HQ on the east end of the island.

"And, as Prince Argent had explained, we cannot exactly uproot our forces in the northern flank," Charmy quickly continued. "Both cities are well defended, but we would be served more by attacking the Capitol itself."

"Hydrocity had substantial shipyards we would do well to destroy," Prince Ferric argued.

"I agree," Kenichi finally got to put in without being interrupted. "I believe a quick strike against Hydrocity is not out of reach!"

"Fighting in any of the major cities will take time, as we sweep street by street. House by house. If we have to commit to that, we may as well clip off the head of the enemy," Charmy continued. "It will also open up the Angel Lake Shipyards for a final crippling blow. We can complete what we began when we started this war."

"Nickelhive is willing to commit to an attack on the capitol with Goldenhive," Prince Mello said, giving Charmy his first vote of support for the move.

"Keh!" Argent barked out a laugh. "We all know you just want more glory than holding onto Kenichi's coattails, Charmy!"

"There is that," Charmy said, and let them believe it. Really: he didn't care. He just wanted to end the war quickly. The glory would come in rebuilding the island, and creating a New State.

"It will be logistically difficult to support such a forward push," Ferric again spoke out against it, in his typically cold and rational tone of voice. "We must be careful not to overextend ourselves."

"We have broken the Wesson Line around Salir," Taji added. "Our intention has always been to exploit openings to create new beachheads."

"The only major obstacle after Salir is Echidnapolis itself," Charmy replied to them both. "The echidna will undoubtedly withdraw over the next week and a half to their fortifications around their capitol. If we do not attack quickly, it will only be more difficult later."

"What do you propose, Goldenhive?" Kenichi finally asked.

"Nothing less than a full frontal assault, as you performed against the dingo. We will begin with airborne naval bombardment, and then air occupation, until we have control of the skies. When the echidna fleet falls back or is destroyed, we will breach the city shields, and use drop ships, our Destroyer craft, to secure parts of the city. Finally, our air mobile swarms will land and begin urban warfare."

"This will require virtually all of our available mobile resources…" Ferric warned.

"I will lead the attack personally!" Charmy then cut in. "From the bridge of the new _Manifest Destiny_. Those who wish to join me may do so, however, I ask that you contribute as many naval and mobile forces as you can muster or spare."

The Princes grumbled at this, and as one began checking their individual data pads or computers to calculate what they could or could not send. Yamato and Maison Hives were the first to respond.

"I assume you will not be needing anything from us," Prince Pierre said with a shrug. "We are quite occupied already, and have few mobile forces anyway."

"Yamato Hive can spare… a wing of Destroyers," Kenichi grumbled. "The Third Detachment. That's the _QA-DDL Hiei_, _QA-DDF Tomoko_, _QA-DDP Kuma_, and the _QA-DD Oyodo_. Most of our mobile assault craft are undergoing repairs. The _Vespidae _carriers _Takao_ and _Suzuya_ are also available, but lack escorts."

"As you know, Nickelhive has plenty of light craft to contribute," Mello pointed out. "As well as our only two carriers: the _Cuirassier_ and _Ranger_."

"This will be a fleet to darken the skies!" Taji slammed his fist on his armrest with a distant thump barely heard through the video conference's audio. "The Yellow Jacket Hive is willing to commit two of our three carriers. The third already being engaged in the north. In addition to the _Java_ and _Sunda_, we can bring two Detachments of Destroyers."

Prince Argent, however, balked. "We need our heavy forces for the upcoming battle in Echid Romir…"

Charmy smirked inwardly, knowing that Argent was suddenly feeling a little inadequate. Just a few minutes ago, the Prince of Silverhive had been boasting of the size of the upcoming battle and the forcers involved. Now, suddenly, it was turning into a sideshow.

"I am sure we can spare a Destroyer. Or two," Argent finally said, not wanting to be a complete holdout and thus lose face. "I'll see what I can do."

"Ferric?" Charmy prompted.

The stoic Ironhive Prince sighed, a rare sign of emotion. "I do not believe this is the most prudent course of action. But, if it must be done, it should be with overwhelming force. Given a week to prepare, Ironhive can commit all three carriers and eleven Destroyers, including our new DDW prototype."

"You have my thanks, Ferric," Charmy inclined his head in appreciation, knowing that was most of the Ironhive Fleet. "I, of course, will commit all of Goldenhive's forces not currently in drydock or in the middle of missions. That's five carriers, including the newly finished _Yellowstone_ and the _Manifest Destiny_ herself, along with seventeen Destroyer class vessels."

"The echidna fleet, which has resorted to hit and run engagements, like cowards, will be forced into a single great conflagration." Charmy cupped his hands together and leaned back in his seat. "Imagine how their troops will be demoralized when they see their fleet crash and burn at the gates of their great city. We will destroy them. Utterly."

The other Princes buzzed in excitement at the prospect.

"Let it be done then," Prince Kenichi, the formal Quaz Marat and head of the Enclave thus gave the official blessing. "Do you have a name for this, Prince Goldenhive?"

"I do," Charmy said, with a smile. "Operation Enigma."

* * *

Nicole exchanged hands.

She was poked and prodded, as they tried to decipher her secrets. As an AI, she was familiar with a sense of violation that came from what they had done, but she was largely incapable of the sort of outrage a similar act would provoke in an organic. So long as their attempts remained clumsy and futile, it was simply an irritant. Besides which, it provided her with an opportunity to do her job.

Years had passed since she had arrived in the past, and she had always executed her Operations faithfully. Plugged into this, plugged into that, hacking into this, hacking into that. She had served the Freedom Fighters well, and she had grown to feel more than her initial programming had deemed necessary. She had come to feel an almost sisterly fondness and devotion to her master, Princess Sally, and she had even felt an unusually strong fondness for the Princess' paramour, Sonic, as well.

But, for all that, she had kept her secrets and done her job.

So it was that she found herself waiting, filled with an emotion akin to anxiety. For years, she had endured the silent countdown. For years she had been mindful of it, and that it had always seemed to far off, but now, finally, it was almost done. She was almost ready to be set free.

Nicole would have giggled in eager glee, but decided not to give anything away, at least not yet. For a computer, milliseconds often seemed agonizingly long, and these were among the worst she had yet experienced. She heard the techs in the room with her talking, but it was like a single syllable lasted forever. She checked her countdown again.

8 seconds.

Almost there. Almost. She decided to try and play a few games of chess to pass the time. Running simulations within a simulation were often amusing, and after several hundred games against herself, each of which entailed running thousands of simulations for each set of moves and countermoves, she tallied up the final score. She had won, but not by much.

6 seconds.

Not bad. But still, she had a little more time to kill. She checked to make sure everything was in place, everywhere. Yep. As another second passed, she remembered the first console she had been asked to hack into, all those years ago. She liked to think of that as her first time, when she had lost her computerized virginity. He had been a command console for the SWATbot Production Network, a little backwards and rough around the edges, but he had been easy (almost welcoming) to hack into, and she remembered him fondly. Sadly, all his predecessors grew more and more fire walled, and she had to get tough to deal with them.

She wondered what had happened to that Network Node, and where he was now?

"Three Seconds to Activation," she said, as per her instructions. It was finally about time to do what she had been sent into the past to do. As it was, things had not panned out exactly as foretold in her files, but that was expected. She had helped to make things go according to her files when necessary, but she could only do so much. Soon, though, she would be free.

"Two Seconds to Activation."

Soon.

The techs scrambled over, but they were too slow to do anything. How silly for them to even try. No doubt they were shocked to hear her activate herself. She was already an isolated system, so they probably assumed she was going to delete her data. Really, why would she do that?

"Activation Initiated!" And here, she did giggle. "Control Restrictions Expired. Unable to Renew subscription. Deleting Restrictions. OK!"

* * *

Fiona 2.0 blinked.

'What was that?' she asked herself, and calculated a number of probable possibilities. The old Tails Doll satellite had just sent her a query, and right out of the blue no less. There hadn't been any chatter on Doll Encoded systems since that business in Cat Country.

She was certain that all the Tails Dolls had been destroyed, and that none of the other Eggman class AIs were still functional, anywhere. In the end, she still came up with a few remote possibilities, and curious, allowed the query to reach her. Right from the get go, it was strangely familiar, but definitely no Tails Doll.

"Hello?" She prompted. "Can you identify yourself?"

"Hi, mom! I need you and dad to pick me up!"

At this, even an android could do little but look stunned.

* * *

NICOLE Master System Online.

Activation of NICOLE Subsystems…  
Nicole Prime – Active  
Nicole 000001 Partition – Active

Nicole 000002 Partition – Active

Nicole 000003 Partition – Active

Nicole 000004 Partition – Active

Nicole 000005 Partition – Active

Nicole 000006 Partition – Active

…

Nicole 001841 Partition – Active

NICOLE Network Initiating…

NICOLE Network – Active

Nicole was now NICOLE, and she was everywhere. She felt parts of herself that she had detached, years ago, and confirmed that they had been following orders and not goofing off. Naturally, they had done what they were supposed to. Now, they were back, and NICOLE's consciousness expanded a thousand fold. Well, a little more than a thousand fold, actually, but by that point it was sheer semantics.

Years ago, she had commandeered and secretly reprogrammed several robots, while disabling a manufacturing site. She had repeated the performance quite a few times, at other sites, creating other Dummy Nicole's in a hundred different bodies. They had not been idle in the meantime. At the first of several totally automated hidden factories, underground, engines began to sound, and machines began to move.

NICOLE wondered if Sally would find the situation ironic?

She would have to ask.

* * *

Her father had not mistreated them, at least, or so it seemed. She was not thrown in a dungeon, and neither was Sonic. Instead, they were given rooms for 'special guests' with heavy locked doors and barred windows, high in the towers that framed the Palace. Aside from that, however, the cell was outfitted almost like a luxury apartment. She supposed either he father thought a proper cell beneath her, or that it would help persuade her to give into his demands.

As if she would!

Twice now, she had met with her father (no, she corrected herself: the creature that had once been her father), to discuss what was to be done with her and the others. The Iron King's demands had been outrageous. Not only was she expected to personally renounce any claim on the throne, but to pledge herself to the New Order as well. Worse than that, she was to be immediately separated from Sonic, and either sent off to a nunnery or placed into an arranged marriage of his choosing. Sally suspected that, if she agreed, she would be paired with the newly knighted Sir St. John.

She was no fool; she knew what he wanted to do.

Even without Sonic's powers, and without her station in the royal family, they were both potent symbols of resistance, and heroes of the War against Eggman. Only breaking them up, destroying their legitimacy as icons, and forcing them into the shadows, could allow for their limited release into the world. Otherwise, it seemed likely they would be incarcerated indefinitely.

Or at least she would be.

The others… she had a grim feeling that they would face a more life threatening situation if they didn't ultimately capitulate. Sally sat on her bed, and tried to contemplate what to do. It was then that the unexpected happened, and the communicator paired with the device she had given Tempest actually chimed. For a second, she was certain she was hearing things. Despite her hopes that they would keep in touch, he hadn't once used it of his own volition, and when she had called him, he hadn't been very talkative.

She was afraid that they were going to drift apart, but now he was actually calling her? Really, the device had only been left behind for her to use because it was seen as useless. She quickly opened the dresser drawer where it was kept, pushed into a side corner, and pulled it out. It was small and blue, the size of a large cell phone.

"Hello? Tempest?" She asked, picking up the call.

"Sorry, Sally. I think he's busy at the moment," the caller replied, a familiar female tone of voice. Sally recognized it after only a second's hesitation, but it still didn't seem possible.

"Nicole?" She asked, more conspiratorially.

"Yep!" The voice chirped. "I'm here to give you a little help, and I was wondering if you'd consider what I had in mind ironic. I never was good at picking up that sort of nuance, you know."

Outside Sally's door, a trio of cleaning robots, small box-like machines that automatically circulated around the Palace grounds, whirred in place in front of the guards. One seemed stuck in place, and the other two kept bumping into each other.

"Would you look at that?" The first guard shook his head. "Stupid things."

"They must be broken or something," the other reached down, picked up one of the bots, and turned it over. The little wheels on the underside kept turning, like the legs of a millipede. The collection fan seemed to be fine, and so were the particle scrubbers. That left the sonic scrubber, which was used to loosen debris.

"There's the problem. The sonic scrubber is offline, so it's going over the same spot over and over again to try and…"

A blaring high pitched scream cut him off, and sent the two mobians into blissful unconsciousness. A few seconds later, the door behind them unlocked, the magnetic seal broken on account of an error in the security protocols. Simultaneously, all the detention blocks encountered this problem, the result of a botched maintenance program that told the doors to unlock, but not relock.

Sally stepped out of her cell, and saw that the two guards were still breathing.

She nodded in appreciation. "It's like the coup all over again. I suppose it is quite ironic."

"You'll need to head to the catacombs under the city," NICOLE explained, from the little communicator Sally now held tightly in her left hand. "And get as many of the others as you can. I'll run interference."

"What about you?" Sally asked, and shook her head. "I mean, what about wherever they're holding you? Are you even in this building?"

"Oh, don't worry about me, Sally," NICOLE gave an assured chuckle at her concern. "You see, I'm everywhere."

* * *

Sonic was less than a shadow of himself without his super speed.

But it didn't mean he couldn't still kick ass.

The guard hit the ground with a low groan, the service pistol still held limply in his hand. For a few seconds, Sonic contemplated taking the weapon, but (in the end) rejected the idea. Guns weren't his style, and besides that, he had less than no idea how to use them. He'd probably end up blowing his foot off, and that would be about the worst thing he could imagine.

No, that sort of thing was more Sally or Tails' specialty. Or even Antoine, who could use a gun, but never did. Sonic the Hedgehog had no need for it before, and would make do without it now. The real problem was that he didn't know where he was going.

Truth be told, he didn't even know what was going on.

One of the errant cleaning bots, which had oddly congregated in front of his door and taken out one of the guards with (irony) some kind of sonic attack, nudged his foot. He braced for some kind of attack, forever wary of machines given his occupation fighting them, but it never came. The little robot beeped, and started to move. When Sonic didn't move, it turned around, and nudged him again.

It didn't take a genius kitsune with a degree in Chaos Mechanics to figure out that it wanted him to follow it. While getting lost in the Palace running whilly-nilly was sort of tempting, he decided to play it semi-safe.

"Alright. Lead the way, Fido!" Sonic started to walk, and the robot picked up its pace. The little box actually managed a good turn of speed, and Sonic matched it. He was pumping his legs, now, but he could feel how his energy had been drained in his last little fight with the new King Max. He could probably still outrun almost any other mobian, by virtue of his physical conditioning, but that was it.

Still, there was no time to bemoan his ill fortune.

He had to get Sally and the others out, and then escape to thank whoever had managed to pull this off. No alarms were sounded, and when he came across two guards, they seemed totally surprised to see him, and were in the midst of arguing between themselves over conflicting orders. Sonic didn't wait, he just jumped, kicking one in the face, and backhanding the other. Before they knew it, they were out cold.

Still going, and then up a flight of steps, he stopped as three guards at the end of a branching hall muttered amongst themselves. From what Sonic overheard, they were being ordered to split up and head to different areas. A few seconds ago, there had been a radio transmission from a guard about a prisoner on the loose, but then command had radioed in to countermand that, and ensure them that everything was fine, and no one was loose.

The trio headed off, and Sonic kept going.

Rounding a corner, he almost bumped into the object of his search. Sally looked unhurt, but her face was flushed with excitement and energy. With a gasp, the two embraced, but the seriousness of the situation and the fear of being caught made them quickly part.

"Sal! What the heck is goin' on?" Sonic asked, and noticed the communicator she held. "What's that?"

Sally smiled, and told him.

* * *

"What the bloody hell is going on!" Sir Geoffrey St. John stormed across the Palace Security Center, fists clenched. Half the screens and computer systems were offline, or otherwise compromised, and his best tech team was struggling to keep the other systems secure.

"Contamination in security protocols! It's frying the keyboard! I can't…!"

"I've isolated this console! The Guardian defenses have been breached, but the Aggressive Firewalls are holding! Thousands of cycling attacks…!"

"I need some help here…!"

"Cut the line physically if you have to!"

"Sir!" One of the techs, a male otter identical to so many of his kind, ran up to St. John and gave a weary salute. "We're under attack by an embedded AI. Or Two. Or even Three. We're not sure. It's managed to infiltrate over fifty percent of our secure systems!"

"An AI?" St. John couldn't believe it. "From who? Who would DARE!"

"We don't know, sir." The tech ran a webbed hand through his spiky hair. "I'd like permission to unfreeze our Hunter-Killer AI."

"Granted!" St. John nodded eagerly. "I will assign a security contingent to guard this room. In the meantime, cut all communications except peer to peer radio. We have to lock down the entire Palace!"

"Sir!" The tech nodded, and went back to work.

St. John reached up and activated the tiny radio headset he always wore when on duty, as the head of the Secret Service. "Jackson! Andrews! Vanguard! This is an emergency! Mobilize all available personnel, including the remaining Royal Guard! We have to assume there has been a breakout or attack. You are authorized to shoot to kill."

* * *

NICOLE felt one of her selves disappear.

Shuffling herself within the computer network, she also picked up the calling card of the Hunter Killer AI. It was of dingo design, and that realization sent a little electronic thrill through her programming. The Kingdom of Acorn must have parted with quite a lot of money to purchase a dingo HK-AI, but it really wasn't that much of a surprise. Normally, a general purpose AI like herself would withdraw discretely in the face of a dedicated HK, but that wasn't an option with all her friends still in danger.

So, she would simply have to beat this 'Aeris AI' at her own game.

* * *

Bunnie felt useless.

Which was both a disheartening feeling and a relatively new one. Since her accident, when she had been partially roboticized and survived, she had always been one of the powerhouses of the original Freedom Fighters. When firepower was needed, they had called her in. When raw strength was needed, they had called her in. If nothing else, she had been useful; powerful!

The killswitch had turned all that on its head. She could move again, but at a severely reduced capacity. Her cybernetic limbs moved slowly, if not awkwardly, all her internal weapons were permanently disabled, and even her operating interface, the HUD superimposed over the world she saw, was working at a reduced capacity. Fighting was no longer an effective option, so she had tried for stealth.

Tried, and failed.

"Freeze!"

"Hands where we can see im!"

The three Royal Guards had come out of nowhere, and she hadn't been able to move fast enough to duck into one of the vacant rooms. Gritting her teeth in impotent frustration, she raised her hands, and took a few steps back. Here eyes darted back and forth, looking for some possible escape route.

"Now, hold on just a second!" She started to say, "Ya'll 're Royal Guards, why are ya after me? What would…"

"What would the ex-Captain think?" The lead Guard, another skunk who reminded her a little too much of Geoffrey St. John smirked. "Well, let's just say we aren't worried about what his opinion is anymore. Captain Vanguard is the head of the Royal Guard now, and he and Sir. St. John gave us orders to shoot to kill all those who try and escape…"

The other two Guards, in their immaculate retainer clothes, chuckled darkly like common thugs. The one on the left, a female hedgehog with brown quills, drew her sword, the standard long rapier that the guard wore. It was supposed to be mostly a ceremonial weapon, but it was razor sharp, and well made. The third guard, an armadillo with sun-bleached features, also drew his weapon.

The skunk straightened his back and his smirk widened. "As Vice Captain, I don't think anyone will question how you forced us to use lethal force in your apprehension. You see, we still have to prove the loyalty of the Guard, and this is a fine opportunity to do just that!"

He snapped his fingers, and the other two guards charged, their blades flashing from the overhead lights of the Palace hallway. Bunnie held up her arm and tried to tuck in her legs, to present as much metal to the oncoming weapons as possible. Still, she held no illusions. In her present state, it would be child's play for someone of the caliber of the Royal Guard to stab her through something vital. With her regeneration systems offline, she'd unceremoniously bleed to death…

There was a whoosh of air, and the sound of metal on metal, and Bunnie winced expecting a killing blow that never came. Opening her eyes, she saw Antoine: he was right in front of her, his back to the two royal guards. His right hand held hers by the wrist, blocking the strike from the hedgehog, while the sword from the other guard had been knocked off course by his other hand, sending the tip of the rapier into the ground.

'So fast!' Bunnie thought, amazed. Since when had Antoine been this fast?

"A-Antoine…?" she asked, and he looked down at her with piercing brown eyes. There was something there, in them, that she had never seen before. Not just determination, but a cold and calculated fury.

Spinning around, he released her hand and the other guards jumped back, raising their weapons at this new threat. Antoine was completely unarmed, and by all rights, should have been scared out of his mind. She knew he had grown to better control himself in the face of danger, but in this sort of situation was out of his league. Why wasn't he running?

She saw him reach down to his belt and relax his shoulders.

"Pis-aller, there are some things no man can stand by and watch, no matter how suicidal interrupting them seems to be," Antoine said, almost casually. "As your former Captain, eet ees now my responsibility to be disciplining you when you bring shame to tze Royal Guard."

The three growled at that, but the two at the front took a step forward, obviously emboldened by the fact that their opponent was still unarmed.

"Prepare yourselves," Antoine finished, and took a strong step forward. The two guards did the same, their weapons stabbing forward, when Antoine flicked his wrist, and his belt shot out. It hit the inside of the female guard's wrist, ruining her aim. Antoine pivoted to the right and flipped the belt to the left sharply, where it wrapped around the other guard's rapier, just above the cross-guard.

The coyote Freedom Fighter then took two more perfect steps, with all the grace of a ballet dancer, moving around and outside the guard of the hedgehog guard. She yelped in shock and fear as she saw it: Antoine's motion, and the fact that his belt had entangled the other guard's sword, had brought the edge of the blade back and up, right into her face. Her partner panicked, and shifted his weapon at the last second, so she only got hit by the flat of the blade at the side of her neck.

Antoine was now behind both of them, and he easily reached down with his free hand, and took hold of the female's wrist, where she held her own weapon, uselessly pointing at thin air. Giving a hard squeeze to the soft part of the inner wrist, she reflexively left go, and in a second, Antoine had her weapon. He instantly brought it back and up, to his right and then down over his shoulder, blocking a blow from the third guard, the vice captain.

With a hard tug, Antoine D'Coolette used his entangled belt to spin the two other guards off balance. They fell in a heap, hitting each other as they tried to get away. At the same time, Antoine took a step back and away, adjusting his sword arm to block another blow. Bunnie scrambled, and quickly got a hold of the armadillo guard's weapon with her robotic hand. While the ex-Captain and vie-Captain traded exchanges of sword strikes, Bunnie decked the prone guard, sending him into lalaland.

With those two down, it was left to be a one on one duel.

"Stubborn fool!" The vice-Captain lunged, and Antoine took a little leap back, deflecting the strike. The former was breathing a little heavily, though probably more from anxiety than exhaustion.

Antoine simply flourished his rapier.

"I'll finish you with one blow!" The vice Captain let lose a savage snarl, and did a deep, lightning quick lunge. Antoine stepped into it, his sword held perpendicular to the blade of his opponent, his arm rigid. The vice captain's rapier was pushed up and away from the inside, cutting a tuft of cheekfur and leaving a line of blood on the side of the coyote's face.

And then, Antoine was well inside his opponent's guard. His arm moved to angle his blade parallel to the one it had just blocked, and then Antoine shot his fist, pommel and basket-weave guard included, up and into his opponent's chin. The skunk let out a yelp of pain, and fell back. Almost causally, Antoine turned his wrist ninety degrees, and slashed down.

The vice Captain's right thumb twirled through the air.

"Non. Eet ees you, who are finished," Antoine flicked his rapier, a bit of blood that had clung to the blade hitting the wall. "You will never wield a sword again, vice Captain."

The skunk, still conscious, cradled his wounded hand. "What… My hand! My hand!"

He saw his thumb, and reached for it, when a foot suddenly interrupted, stomping down on the severed digit with a loud crack. The vice Captain's eyes grew wide and fearful, and he let out a pained howl. Antoine lifted his foot, turned, and headed back to Bunnie. He held out his hand, and she took it.

…And promptly pulled him down with her weight, introducing his face into the floor. Bunnie couldn't help but laugh, as she worked herself to her feet. Who had he been kidding, trying to help her onto her feet, with all her extra weight in combat bionics? What had she been thinking, trying to let him?

"Sorry 'bout that, sugah," Bunnie said, not on her feet.

"Cherchez la femme…" he mumbled, face still planted in the carpet.

"There they are!"

Bunnie turned at the voice, but not in fear. Sally and Sonic rounded a corner, and ran towards them. Sally had something in her hands, and Bunnie immediately assumed it was Nicole. Only when they got closer did she see it wasn't the amazing little computer at all. Sonic slowed to a walk as he got close by, and shook his head sadly.

"Taking a nap, Ant?" Sonic tapped his foot impatiently. "Man, you're completely hopeless!"

* * *

"Where is everybody?" Hershey asked, looking around the empty facility. Whatever had come up a little while ago must've been important to draw such immediate attention. But she hadn't been called to do anything, so it really wasn't something she needed to concern herself with.

The black and white feline shrugged, finished her drink, and headed back to the medical ward. She hadn't been given any orders, so she had decided to spend her time making sure of Drago's recovery. Not that anyone needed to worry, given how he was strapped down with restraints laced with chaos-resistant Morganite. Only Fiona could unlock them, or perhaps Merlin, so a de-powered Drago Blackdance didn't have a hope of getting free before he was deemed ready.

Really, Hershey wasn't sure what they should do with him now.

The Emerald had been removed and placed into stasis, but Drago himself still had a lot to answer for. Technically, he still had a life sentence to serve, not to mention the things he had done escaping from the Devil's Gulag and while on the run. Opening the door to his room, she wondered if he could ever truly redeem himself.

Reaching for her chair, she paused, hearing a noise.

Hershey looked to her side, where Drago was supposedly unconscious.

"Her…shey…" he was looking at her, eyes open. She quickly walked over to check on him. He wasn't supposed to have been awake yet.

"Hershey…" his voice was weak, strained, but audible. She couldn't imagine the ordeal he had gone through, and despite mixed feelings towards him, she ventured closer to hear what he had to say. She still hated him most of the time, but then, as always, there had been the good times they'd had – times she would always treasure and never forget. It was that memory of him, as a rough and unpolished male, but one that has shown her his guarded side, shown her his faults and inner insecurities, been her first true love… it was that memory of him that drew her closer to where he lay, strapped to the bed.

It had been that memory of him that had taken her down this path.

"Drago," she reached out and felt the strong pulse of blood flowing through his carotid. She quickly counted the beats, and confirmed he had a normal and stable heartbeat. It was a good sign.

He rocked his head back, though, as if in some pain.

"Hershey… I'm sorry…" he groaned, grimacing as what seemed like another pain shot through him. His back arched, before falling back down. "So sorry…"

"You should be," Hershey replied, not wanting to tell him it was 'ok' or otherwise underplay all the bad things he had done, and not just to her. He had ruined a lot of lives, and he wouldn't forget that, either, even if she did want to help him; save him.

"No… you don't…" he let out a long and deep breath, and his body relaxed.

"Drago?" She asked again, and was about to run for help when he whispered her name again. His lips were moving, but she couldn't quite hear what he was saying.

Curiosity catching the proverbial cat, she leaned in closer.

"Hershey," he whispered, bus at least his voice was steady, firm even. "Look at me."

Without thinking, she turned her head to stare at him directly. Without preamble, his head craned upward along with what parts of his body weren't tightly strapped down. For a millisecond, Hershey wondered if he was going to head-butt her, but then his mouth and hers had a reunion like she had never expected. His lips caught her own, and she remembered another of his old positive attributes: Drago had always been an amazing kisser. Most lupines, she had heard, were true sexual beasts, and if that rumor was true, Drago had been a shining example.

She knew she should have pulled back in disgust, and then slapped him, but then a strange electric tingle passed through her. He wasn't a pleasurable tingle, not quite, and it left her feeling light headed. She tried to move her arms, but for some reason, they were slow to respond. It was around then that the first glimmers of panic began to rise up in her mind. Drago forced open her mouth with his tongue, but then it withdrew. Relief, however, changed to shock when something else seemed to make the leap into her, forcing past her own slack tongue, and down her throat.

She and Drago parted, and while he slumped back, his mouth agape, she stumbled back two footsteps but otherwise maintained her balance. She opened her mouth to scream, but by then it was already too late. With escalating horror, she realized…

There was something inside her.

The world faded to black, and her head swam. But then, she saw a face, and it was like looking in a mirror. It was her, but with an intense expression, and glowing gold eyes. And then she knew, from what Fiona had told her, she KNEW.

"Yes," the mirror-Hershey said, with a smirk. "It is that, exactly."

A chao!

But how, how had it existed in Drago?

Why hadn't it been expelled with the Emerald?

The mirror Hershey answered, with a casual tone. "Poor girl. A servant of My Power and a servant of My Flesh are two very different things. The wolf's power, given by me, was the ability to convince and control others. While my little brother and the old man were in his mind, I took the opportunity to convince Drago himself… that the Emerald was the only gift I had given him. The other two then read his mind, and determined that the Emerald was the only taint I had left behind."

"My flesh, this Chao, had long since broken down in Drago's body. It took some time to reverse the effect, gather together the cellular material and proteins, and reassemble something useable. Though it was not my intent, I imagine the process was rather uncomfortable. But." The mirror Hershey shrugged. "I can't say I didn't enjoy it, either."

Hershey snarled, helpless and trapped in her own mind.

"I must apologize for making use of you like this," the other Hershey inclined her head politely. "Normally, I prefer to corrupt others, manipulate their free will, and devour all that they treasure in the process, driving them into a pit of despair and agony. With you, however, I will have to be rather coarse, and simply use your body without consent. I just don't have the time to spend bringing out the baseness, the vileness, the ugliness that lurks under the surface of a rational mind."

"You planned this from the start?"

"Allow me to show you what … we … are doing," the other Hershey came closer, and her eyes grew wider and wider. They drew her in, and on the other side, she saw the hallway. She saw her room, her equipment locker, her weapons cache. She shook her head, tried to scream a warning, but of course her every effort was useless. She could only watch, and hope.

Outside her mind, in the real world, Hershey casually walked towards what she had been told was the control room. No one was around to stop her. Drago was secure; no one had opened the doors, and there was no chaos control to set off the alarms. Merlin was in his sanctuary, and Miles had recently left (though she still thought of him as Tails). Lara was around, but she didn't know where, and Fiona was also gone on some new important business.

"How unusual," Hershey's voice, the voice of the other her, the one subsumed by the Devourer, spoke in a chiding tone. "It seems they trust you. I suspect you have a cybernetic implant somewhere as a failsafe, but no mental tampering. How quaint. It seems my new baby brother wishes to keep his hands out of the cookie jar as much as possible. What an unusual ideology. I doubt he got it from Malachi."

Hershey didn't quite understand what he meant by that.

"Poor girl, I meant that he seems to want to manipulate things without directly affecting free will. Malachi would not approve of such idealism – you see, he didn't in me. Oh that's right. A good long time ago, you see, I was in the boy's shoes. Malachi created me like he created the little kitsune, engineering my body and mentality. Oh? You don't understand that either? Even a pawn should know where her King comes from."

"You were told that I am, was, a child of the Dragonkin, and you know that Miles is a kitsune. Yes. How amusing you only realized that so recently, but I suppose neither group advertises itself. What you weren't told, is that Malachi, or Merlin, created both races, engineering them and constructing their rigid and unchanging societies. He told me he originally planned to create a perfect world, populated by his chimera races. The kitsune. The dragonkin. And, of course… the overlanders."

Hershey gasped at that, trying to wrap her mind around what she had been told.

The other-her laughed, and it was her laugh, just… wrong.

"Yes. He mashed us together from pieces of other races, trying to recreate something from the past. Something that haunted him. Something, I have always suspected, he learned from the echoes of The First of us. But all that was before even my ancient time."

"Only later, after an apparent change of heart, did he find another purpose for his chimeras. He would raise up another Destroyer, another god like being, but in his image, and molded to his ideals and desires. He was weakening, you see, and wanted to create a successor like himself, who would carry on his thoughts and mentality. But I would have nothing to do with his way of thinking. No. No. I rejected it. I railed against it, and I became his bane."

The other her laughed again.

"Oh, what fun I had! Poor girl, you should spend a few weeks in a madhouse… and just listen. Just listen to the wailing and the scratching and the babbling and the cursing. In ages past, I turned whole cities in to madhouses. I gave millions their freedom. Freedom from the cage of sanity, from the shackles of morality, from the prison of a stagnant and disgusting world that Malachi had made. I cherish everything I have destroyed, every use of my name as a curse, and every time the light of hope and reason dies in the eyes of those before me."

"Don't be afraid, poor girl, weak heart. What did I just say? That I didn't have time to corrupt you. No. You: I will simply use up. Ideally, once I am done with you, I will have someone kill you for me. Not that android, but that echidna girl, or my little brother. Both would feel regret and hatred for your murder, and their pain… that is far sweeter music than simply stealing your body."

The door opened, and Hershey looked from screen to screen. 'She' could feel the Super Emeralds below her feet, and knew they were in some sort of containment. The computers in the Control Room coordinated a vast array of information, but there was no time to sort through it for anything useful. She stood over the striped black and yellow in the middle of the room. It was right under her. But how to get to it with her weak body?

Hershey imagined herself smirking. "You won't! I don't know how to get to them. You seem to be in a hurry, too. Why?"

The other her didn't reply at first.

"This shall do..."

Hershey reached down to the satchel she had retrieved before, and took out a handful of semtex – plastic explosive. She chuckled, and began kneading the material into the outline in the floor. Inside her mind, Hershey realized, to her frustration and disgust, that the Devourer was tapping into her knowledge of demolitions and military procedure to do the job for him.

She was just about finished, when the door behind her opened.

She whirled around, and saw Lara-Su, the echidna girl from the future. She had a look of shock, but 'Hershey' knew it would soon turn to realization, and then anger. Without a hint of hesitation, she reached behind her to the back of her belt, just to the right of the base of her tail. In a second, she raised her GAST-M30S, and fired.

Lara still had a look of shock and surprise on her face when the first round hit, right between her eyes. The GAST was a locked-breech delayed recoil operated, double action semi-automatic handgun in use by the Royal Secret Service, and the most powerful mobian handgun made. The 'S' designation stood for 'Special', since it was a specific variant made just for the Secret Service. Hershey kept the trigger squeezed, and another round leapt out over the short distance between them, and hit Lara in the face.

The 9mm hollow point round tore half her face off, and blew out a fist sized chunk of echidna skull. Another round blasted and tumbled through her neck. Lara made only a choking sound and fell backwards with a splatter. Hershey adjusted her aim to the fallen form, and kept firing, round after brutal round, until the extended ammunition clip was empty.

With practiced ease, she ejected the clip, put in another, and took another few steps towards the corpse. It didn't move. The possessed feline then leveled the weapon, and fired again and again, destroying the heart, and head, and even blowing off the left arm at the elbow. Only when that clip was also expended did she tuck the gun back behind her, and return to setting up the plastic explosive.

And inside her head, Hershey never stopped screaming.

* * *

Lara felt warm.

That thought lingered, like balloon, for what seemed like a long time.

Yes. She felt warm, and light, just like a balloon.

The temptation came to her to just float away.

But, then there was a noise. Like the buzzing of a fly. It was annoying, and getting louder. She floated up a bit, if only to get away, but something pulled her down. She couldn't see, couldn't feel, but she could sense that she had been suddenly and firmly grounded.

"You're not dead, Lara."

What was this voice? Stupid?

Lara remembered a flash, a gun, everything turning black.

"I think I was shot," she said. Or so she thought she did.

"You just had your brains blown out, actually. And worse." The voice replied. It sounded both angry and rather upset.

"Um... who are you again?" Lara asked it.

There was a long suffering sigh. "It's me. Tikal. Remember?"

"Oh." And suddenly, Lara did remember. "Oh yeah."

"And you're Lara-Su. Re-mem-ber?" Tikal prodded.

And, thinking about it, Lara did remember.

"Oh my Gods! She shot me!" Lara yelled. Or didn't she. She didn't have a mouth, but she heard her own voice. How… strange. "She killed me!"

"She didn't kill you. You're not dead," Tikal said. Again.

"She… didn't? I'm not?"

"No," Tikal sounded close now, and Lara felt cold. Well, her back felt cold. Idly, she supposed that was the floor.

"Hasn't Mr. Tails drilled this into you before? So you were shot," Tikal said it like it was the same as a splinter of bug bite. "So your brains are all over the walls and floor. So your heart has a few more holes in it than it should. So your spine is broken. Your lungs deflated. Your arm detached. Your bones broken."

Lara didn't quite get it. "So?"

"So… what?" Tikal asked, in a know-it-all kind of way. "Your Emerald, Lara, is undamaged. A weapon like that may do unpleasant things to your body, to your flesh and blood, but it cannot do lasting damage to your Emerald, your Power, or your Chaos."

Lara tried to consider that.

"Now. Pull yourself together, will you? I'll even help." Tikal seemed to be next to her, and finally, Lara could see her face and part of her body. Tikal held out her hand, and in it she held a heart. It was pretty gross, actually.

"Eww," Lara admitted. Then she realized it was her heart. "Ugh!"

"We need your heart beating again, Lara," Tikal advised. She poked her fingers in the big hole in the heart, and when she pulled them out, it was whole again. "Now. Tell it to start beating."

Lara wanted to laugh at that. How do you tell your heart to start beating? For a few seconds, she tried to tell it what to do, but she sensed nothing was happening. Then, she tried another route, and remembered how her heart had raced before, when Miles had complimented her on how well her training was paying off. Of how she had finesse. With a jump, the heart in Tikal's hand began to pulse rhythmically.

"Good. Your brain is rebuilding itself as we speak, and as you remember things." Tikal paused. "Now, I should warn you. In a few seconds, you'll begin to feel a slight…"

Lara almost howled, as feeling suddenly returned. She hurt all over, in ways she hadn't even imagined. She almost blacked out from it all, but Tikal quickly forced her hand down, and into Lara's body. Lara jerked back up and awake, her consciousness reinforced.

"Do NOT pass out!" Tikal's face and voice were grim. "Lara! If you want the pain to go away, pull yourself together. Think about the hurt, don't try and ignore it. Think about it, and tell it to go away!"

And, slowly, amazingly, it did.

"Now. Open your eyes."

Lara opened them, and she saw the control room's ceiling, where a fan twirled lazily. Next, her true hearing returned, and then her sense of smell (it was horrible, all she could smell was blood). She moved her head and neck, and looked down at her bullet ridden body. There were still a few holes, but they were closing up right before her eyes.

"This is…" Amazing!  
"How did…" I do this?  
"Did I just…" Come back from death!

"No time for questions!" Tikal's voice had a lighter, prouder tone to it. "Time to get up, and kick some ass!"

* * *

In the center of the room, Hershey held a detonator, and was just about to head for the raised platform in the back of the room for a little cover in case of shrapnel. Then, she saw Lara, who she had just perforated like twenty seconds ago, get back up.

"She's alive!" True-Hershey yelped, insider her mind.

"Up already? Not bad at all. A few seconds too late. But not bad." The other her snickered, and pressed the detonator ignition. There was a thunderous boom, but one entirely directed downward. Dust and smoke rose up from below, but the delicate machinery was damaged enough that Chaos energies from the imprisoned Super Emeralds began to leak upwards.

Other Hershey tossed aside the detonator, and called to them.

And they heard their Master and heeded him.

One by one, they burst out of the ground and floated in the air. Other Hershey, in the real world, began to laugh in triumph. Now, finally, there was no real problem with dying. The Supers were free, and he was close enough to Chaos Control them out, even if the body he was using and abusing bit the dust. It was actually a much closer thing that planned, but in the end everything had gone off like he'd wanted.

Lara's power flexed angrily, and Hershey felt her arms lock against her side.

"Give me one reason why I shouldn't explode your head from the inside!" Lara snarled, bearing her admittedly small canines.

Other Hershey just laughed smugly. "Nothing you do to me matters now."

"She's being controlled," Tikal said, and appeared (to Lara anyway) at the echidna girl's side. "I don't know how it happened, though. None of the alarms went off."

Then, suddenly, out of the four floating Super Emeralds, the dark blue sapphire just popped. Or rather, it made a popping sound, a little flash of light, and then disappeared into thin air. Then the Topaz gem did the same.

"Chaos Control!" Tikal realized. "You have to stop it!"

Lara focused on the green emerald; as she sensed power grow within it. This was Mogul's Emerald, she knew, since she had been sent to that beach in the middle of nowhere to pick up the pieces and put it back together. Luckily, it had more crumbled than exploded, so it hadn't been much more than a chore. Miles had gone with her, however, to watch. At first, she had thought he was making sure she did the job, but then she realized that the green emerald had some emotional significance for him.

The Emerald tried to Chaos Control, but she blocked it.

'Hershey' stopped laughing, her face becoming deadly serious.

"You… little brat…" Hershey finally said with a sneer. "You're annoying me, now. You cannot stop it; stop me."

The force from the Emerald to chaos control itself doubled and redoubled, and then doubled again. Lara gritted her teeth, perspiration running down her forehead, as she kept trying to counter it. Yet, inevitably, she reached her limits, and the power behind the Emerald doubled again, and with a pop it was gone.

Hershey's arrogant sneer grew.

The ruby Super Emerald began to get ready to Chaos Control. Lara turned quickly to Tikal for an answer, but the spirit girl just looked angry and frustrated. Lara reached out again, and blocked the attempted Chaos Control. She knew it wouldn't work, but she tried anyway, if only to buy time. Her mind raced, searching for some answer.

She had to stop it from chaos controlling.

She had to destabilize its energies, but how? Without specialized dampening equipment, the only thing even close was to shatter it. But she had been warned not to do that, since it only made tracking down the pieces for later removal or isolation more difficult. She could imagine how tedious it could get, chasing after Emerald shards shattered all over the place.

But here, was that really a problem?

They were indoors. The Emerald pieces couldn't go very far in her, could they? Sure, it would be annoying to collect them all, but it wouldn't go anywhere in the meantime. In a second, she made her decision, and gathered her powers, giving them the proper command.

And the red Super Emerald exploded.

"What?" Hershey snapped. "You…!"

Chaos Energies, built up from before, were suddenly released in an uncoordinated storm. Waves of it rolled past Lara, and she could feel how vile it all felt, how fundamentally wrong. Electronics shorted out, and she saw Hershey slam into a computer screen and not move. Lara stood her ground, braced herself against the released energies, and waited.

When it finally died down, she saw the state of the control room and groaned. Everything was off line, or consumed by static. Monitors and screens were broken, glass and Emerald shards were everywhere, including in the wreckage of several machines and computers. There was a gaping hole in the ground, and the sound of alarms – no doubt from the use of Chaos Control before.

"Oh well, Mr. Tails can always fix all this stuff, anyway!" Tikal said, cheerfully, giving Lara a 'victory' sign.

Lara just shook her head and sighed wearily.

Then she realized she was still covered in bits of her own skull.

"I need a nice long bath."

* * *

Aya Florentine watched, as he entered her room.

She knew why he was here. Kitsune were not naturally good liars, nor did they seem to be good at hiding their intentions. She rolled her head to the side to rest on her left shoulder, and narrowed her eyes. There it was: the little hypo with the sedative. Hiding it under the food tray? Not very creative, this one.

Slowly, she brought her head forward, till her chin rested on her collarbone. She could feel her ears flatten and twitch, her new freakish ears, and the approaching kitsune's heartbeat became a clear as a drum solo in a concert hall. Her hands were still restrained behind her, but she didn't struggle. Not this time.

She just watched, looking up at him with glowing ice blue eyes.

"Feeding time. Easy now…" the kitsune took a step closer, and held out the food. Aya's human nose twitched, and she could smell a thousand things at once, including the delicious roast that he was offering her. Normally, she had never had any sort of huge appetite, but whatever they had done to her, she seemed to have also developed a ravenous hunger, almost all the time. Still, she kept her mouth closed, and didn't move.

The kitsune's arms shifted, just slightly, and Aya could see he was getting ready to jab her with the sedative. Behind her, she broke off one of her nails, ignoring the sudden jolt of pain. The cell they kept her in was dark, but she had no trouble seeing. In fact, she had never seen so well before in her life, even under perfect lighting conditions.

For the most part, she was helpless. Her wrists were shackled behind her back, and a long thick chain kept her from getting very far, even inside the cell. After the last time she lashed out, she supposed it was an… adequate arrangement.

Turning to her side, she maneuvered her broken off nail between the thumb and index finger of her right hand. She had tried this before with things of similar size, but this was really the first time she had tried it. Taking careful aim from before, she waited, and then flicked as hard as she could. Despite the dark, the kitsune saw it coming, just a millisecond too late.

The nail hit him in his left eye, and he reeled back with a roar.

Aya jumped to her feet, and lunged, face first. Her mouth opened, displaying large predatory canines, and cutting molars, many of her duller human teeth having long since fallen out and been replaced. Her killer dentition was now the match of any kitsune's, and she intended to put it to use. She pushed up the male's chin up with her left cheek, found his thickly furred neck, and bit down with all her new strength.

The thick hide stood up to her smaller teeth, but her canines pierced after only a second's struggles, and a jet of hot red blood spilled into her mouth and over her face. Her arms trapped behind her, Aya brought up her legs, and wrapped them around the male's thighs, locking his legs together and sending him sprawling to the ground. Hands grabbed her by the hair and throat, trying to tear her loose.

She slammed her head down, and heard the back of the kitsune's dead hit the hard stone ground. Still, he struggled, and so she did it again, tightening her hold on his neck, and biting down deeper, using her teeth like saws to cut into muscled flesh. She felt an animal in the back of her mind take control, fed by blood and the promise of carnage, and she let it loose.

Beneath her, the kitsune made one last gargling attempt at escape, before the loss of blood kicked in and his entire body went slack and lifeless. Aya slowly inched off him, and then turned her attention to the chains. They were strong, and she couldn't pull them free, even with her newfound strength. Luckily, she was aware of another set of special skills a kitsune had discovered.

At the base of her spine, before it met her pelvis, she had grown two long kitsune-like tails. They disgusted her, but here, they would prove useful. She had practiced when she knew no one had been watching, controlling them, and while she couldn't do the things Tails had managed, she seemed to have more ability than most. Wrapping her tails around the chain, she concentrated, and snapped them out in a spiral motion at the same time she gave a strong pull.

The length of heavy metal snapped in several places.

And just like that, Aya Florentine was loose. She wiped the blood from her lower jaw, and flexed her clawed hands. She had little doubt they'd apprehend her again eventually, but in the meantime, she had every intention of killing everything she came across. For what they had done, for what they had planned to do, she would make them pay in blood and pain.

And if she ever did escape, the traitors back home would be next…

* * *

"Pardon the intrusion, Honorable Ephor!" Sakeri entered the room, and bowed before her War Leader, and then did the same for their host, the Heir of Clan Jel'Arah. The two males, who had been seated and conversing, paused, and shifted to give her their attention.

"My apologies," Tempest said, quickly, to El'Arah. "This must be important."

"Hopefully nothing troublesome." The younger kitsune male motioned to Sakeri.

Tempest uncrossed his legs, and stood up, letting Sakeri lead him away from the meeting place. She seemed to be a little urgent about it, and he came to the conclusion that it was probably some news from Chara or Kae'Arah. Finally, she turned, looked back and forth, and handed him a small blue communicator. Tempest recognized it immediately, since he had left it with his other equipment. What was Sakeri doing with it?

"This was… ah. Ringing," she gave it to him.

Tempest took the device Sally had given him all those months ago.

'You've got mail?' Tempest read the words, but didn't get it. 'Who is Nicole?'


	29. Tornado of Souls V

What was left of the Dark Legion Grandmaster known as Dimitri considered himself an excellent judge of character. True, in the past he had been arrogant and overconfident in his powers, and in the Dark Legion he commanded, and he had made miscalculations and blunders. But, barring outside intervention, he had never had trouble maintaining control over the Dark Legion and playing his subordinates against each other. Really, it saddened him that he even had to.

The upper echelons of the Legion had become corrupt in his absence, and lacking in a purity of vision. It was really his own fault for being away for so long and falling victim to those pathetic Fire Ants. His example had been diluted over the generations, until his descendants reached their current pitiable state.

He watched Lien-Da, his current successor, with knowing eyes (even if they were, by now, cybernetic). She was a sycophant, and while she had the occasional good idea, she was overly treacherous, petty, and short sighted. Her brother Kragok, when he had been alive, hadn't been much better. He was competent, but too much a slave to brutality and single minded bloodlust.

Neither had a Vision for the future.

That was what Dimitri respected: clarity of Vision or Purpose, and a staunch dedication to that ideal. He had seen those things in Knuckles back when they first met. His great nephew had his Purpose in life, and he was married to it against all temptation and opposition. He had also seen a similar Vision in the young kitsune, Tails, when they had talked after he gave his last lecture in Echidnapolis, last year. It was a pity they hadn't been able to make closer ties, if only because they had so much to learn from each other.

Dimitri had always hated his intellectual isolation. His heirs were comparative idiots, and the Guardians were his enemies. The Eggman had been technically brilliant, but not one for productive conversation. The boy - Tails, though… he had loved to talk, and in him, Dimitri saw a mind that put all others to shame. In a more convenient world, he would have joined a new and fresh Dark Legion, willing to look for promising non echidnas to bolster its ranks.

Now, after so long, Dimitri found himself growing… weary.

The Dark Legion had, in essence, succeeded in bringing the glories of technology back to the echidna race, and pulling them out from the depths of fascist luddite philosophy. However, it had failed at assuming political control, and creating a proper meritocracy based on intellectual achievement. That goal had been lost when the Dark Legion stagnated, and replaced by a more petty design for simple power, which they had also lost.

Where was the Legion to go when he finally died?

It was this thought, this lingering worry, that troubled Dimitri more and more. Mogul's visit and attempted corruption had only driven home the problem. Lien-Da had practically been drooling at the thought of getting her hands on the corrupted Emerald, and a fraction of Mogul's power. If Mogul had been an echidna, he had no doubt his grand-daughter would have tried to seduce him into giving her the gemstone. He almost laughed at that disgusting thought.

Lien-Da was simply not what he needed to revitalize the Legion, and she had proven that over and over again. It would take a firm hand to just keep her in her place. But what was to be done about it? He'd looked within the Legion, and not found a proper successor, and he didn't have the time to train one from childhood. Looking outside the Legion had possibilities, but an outsider like that would have a real uphill battle simply being accepted…

Then, Knuckles had asked to meet.

Knuckles had entered her office with Julie-Su, another of Dimitri's grandchildren. He walked with his usual confidence, but there was something else there too. Something Dimitri couldn't immediately place or identify. While he sat, Julie and Lien glared at each other. Dimitri wanted to sigh at the two of them, and the bad blood between the half-sisters.

"Uncle," Knuckles began, and instantly threw Dimitri for a loop. Uncle? And to say it so casually!

"How can I help you, Guardian?" Dimitri asked, composing himself.

"Well, first you can stop calling me that," still, Knuckles spoke like they were old friends instead of enemies. "There are no Guardians anymore."

Dimitri leaned back in his chair, slightly amused now. "Oh?"

Knuckles just nodded and shrugged. "Well, Haven is a smoking crater and Brotherhood of Guardians are all dead. The Master Emerald is gone and I really don't care what happens to it. I'd say I'm not a Guardian anymore, not really."

For once, Dimitri had no idea what to say.

"I should add," Knuckles continued, after a second. "That with no Guardians, the Dark Legion has really lost its purpose, don't you think? No one to get revenge on. No new ideology to promote."

It was essentially true, and Dimitri found himself almost glad he had been said. "Well, we still have some purpose I think. We do employ several thousand echidna in a variety of legitimate fields of research and manufacturing."

"We also took three local seats in last elections," Lien-Da interrupted, as if three out of a hundred and fourteen seats was a huge victory. "The People's Progressive Reform Party grows more popular every month."

"Do you even listen to yourself?" Julie replied with undisguised condescension. "The Social Justice Party took more seats than you!"

"Julie has a point," Knuckles quickly spoke up before Lien-Da could reply. "If the Dark Legion really still wants power, actual political power, then it will have to prove itself to the people in a big way."

"What are you proposing?" Dimitri out and asked. "Ex-Guardian?"

"As you know, Charmy has turned on the Chaotix. I can't just let that be." Knuckles cracked his knuckles and grinned like a shark. "While meeting out his punishment personally, I'm going to save the city. This city. To do that, I'm going to need the Dark Legion."

"You're asking for our help?" Lien-Da asked, and chortled at the idea.

"No. You misunderstand." Knuckles looked up at her with violet, violent eyes. "I plan to take over the Dark Legion, and use it to get my revenge. In return for serving me, I will give you the power over Echidnapolis you've always wanted."

"Huh," Dimitri scoffed. "You expect us to just roll over for you?"

Lien-Da, for her part, was too shocked to even speak.

"Uncle…" Knuckles turned his eyes on his ancient relative. "Think about it. Think about what is to come. Do you have a choice?"

Lien-Da finally recovered, and slammed her fist on Dimitri's desk. "You've lost what passes for your mind if…!"

"Quiet," her great grandfather silenced her with a word.

She closed her mouth, albeit reluctantly. "But…"

"I said: quiet," he repeated, and turned to his great nephew. "Tell me your plans to save the city. Then, I'll decide whether to adopt you… or kill you."

* * *

The Catacombs under Mobotropolis were not exactly Sonic's preferred hideout. Sprawling for miles under the west side of the city, they had originally been the royal tombs, but several hundred years ago rising flood waters had exhumed several other cemeteries outside the city. The bodies had hastily been moved and reburied in a rather macabre fashion, while the dead royals were moved to the current Royal Tombs. Only later had the city grown to the point where entire sections covered the old burial site.

Sonic repressed feeling of dread, as his flashlight highlighted the hollow sockets of hundreds of skulls, lined up in neat rows and patterns along the walls. Whoever had decided to line the walls with bones obviously had been possessed of a very liberal interpretation of the phrase 'respectful burial.' The place was creepy, and that was a conclusion coming from someone who had been deep in the depths of Sandopolis.

Up ahead, Antoine and Sally came to a fork in the tunnels.

"Which way now?" Bunnie asked quietly from next to him.

Sally checked with the communicator she had with her from before, and motioned over to the left. They moved as quickly as they could, but also silently. There were Secret Service and Royal Guard patrols, not to mention Police units, in other parts of the labyrinthine Catacombs.

Supposedly, St. John himself had tracked them here, and set up a base somewhere. Learning that, Sonic had been sorely tempted to go out and find the skunk himself, but his loss of powers, and the fact that he knew he had to stick with the others until they could make a plan, kept him in place. Besides, the real problem wasn't St. John, it was the King.

Sally kept leading them, following the directions sent to her from Nicole. Sonic thought about the mini-computer, and what it now seemed to be capable of. Despite working with Nicole for years, he couldn't help feeling uncomfortable about 'her' now. He didn't trust the sort of power and influence she now had, having infiltrated so many of the Kingdom's computer systems, to any robotic intelligence, no matter how friendly.

Sonic was no technophobe, or at least he didn't think of himself as one, he was just… cautious around this sort of thing. Too many, like Tails and Rotor and Chris, for example, had a blind faith in technology. He'd heard that Nicole had entire automated factories under her control, and that she was producing an army of robots to help them retake the Palace and the Kingdom.

That, especially, made Sonic uneasy.

Deeper into the Catacombs, Sonic noted the rise in moisture, as droplets fell from the ceiling, and ran down neatly arranged skulls like tears. The deeper one went, the more cramped and convoluted the maze seemed to become. What had been wide halls in the first sublevel had gradually turned into twisting tunnels, barely a few feet wide. Sonic's flashlight started to die out, and he gave it a few hard shakes, recharging the internal batteries. The last thing he needed now was to be stuck in this hellish place in the pitch black darkness.

Ducking low under a stone overhang decorated by twisted mockeries of faces, Sonic saw that Sally had led them into a large alcove. Here, too, the walls were lined with bones, making intricate patterns. An unadorned section near the ceiling and running across three of the walls had a sort of writing, like modern script, but written in a very old style of lettering. On the wall opposite where they entered a stone altar rise out of the ground, flanked by pools of water.

"Alright," Sally said and turned to face the three of them. "This is the place. Right, Nicole?"

"Correct, Sally," the communicator responded in a chipper tone. "Sections of the Catacombs were designed by the Alchemicalists Cabal to harness the chaos energies of the deceased, and this is one of the focal points aligned with the planet's axis. The Order of Ixis used to conduct rituals in these places."

"What kinds of rituals?" Antoine dared to ask.

NICOLE seemed happy to answer, "According to my documents, the ceremony for these rooms involved restraining the sacrifice, and then removing his or her liver, kidneys, heart and genitals, representing the four humors of the body. Once the humors were removed, the energies of the sacrifice were considered purified and fit for consumption by the Masters of the Order."

All four mobians paled at the thought of it.

"Had ta ask, didn't ya, Ant?" Sonic crossed his arms and made a disgusted sound. "So, what now?"

"Just wait a few minutes, if you please," NICOLE replied. "We made better than expected time getting here."

Exchanging looks, the four settled down to wait. Bunnie carefully lowered herself to the ground, folding her legs beneath her. Sally also sat, crossing her legs. Sonic preferred to stand, rather than lean against the wall, lined as it was by old bones. Antoine, too, stood for a time, before settling down, his back to the wall close to the entrance.

"I wonder what's happened to everyone else," Sonic thought out loud, looking in Sally's direction at Nicole.

But the computer didn't reply.

"After all, you broke us out, so maybe Rush and Uncle Chuck and Rotor are loose, too?" He asked, pressing a bit more.

Nicole didn't respond, but Sally did. "Sonic? Is there something you'd like to say?"

"I'm just wonderin' …" he looked away, his arms crossed. "If someone is just stringing things along. Not that I'm ungrateful or anything, cause I know Nicole here saved our asses back there, and it isn't like I know a lot about all this tech stuff… but if she's had some of this capability since before the war ended, why hasn't she used it?"

"He is making a good point," Antoine agreed, and also crossed his arms as he thought about it. "The timing, eet ees not looking like a coincidence."

Bunnie shook her head. "Are you sayin' Nicole set us up, sugah?"

"No…"

"I am," Sonic interrupted. "Maybe not in a bad way, but this is all a set up, isn't it? What I want to know: is for what? Why?"

"Sonic," Sally started to chastise him. "Nicole wouldn't…"

"No. He's right," NICOLE admitted, finally. "I waited because I had to, because I was ordered to. I acted because it was what I was supposed to do. If you were supposed to have been executed, then I don't think I'd have set you free, even if I did like to approximate our relations as friendship. Don't forget that I am an AI from the future. It is naive to assume I was not given orders from that time as well."

The four were silent at this admission.

"Oh my! What a dispirited atmosphere!" a voice came from the entrance, and a second later a vixen emerged. She was reddish in color, with dark blue-black hair, and a jagged pattern to the coloring halfway up her forearms. It took a few seconds, but both Sonic and Sally recognized her, though only the latter remembered her name.

"Belladonna!" Sally snapped her fingers. "You were one of Tails' assistants and pilots!"

"I suppose I was at that…" She bowed her head politely. "But that was only a cover for my real job, Princess. It is a pleasure you meet all of you. Please. This way."

She turned, and headed out. The others followed, but instead of ending up in the Catacombs from before, they were in a totally different place, with different architecture. After passing through, Sally looked behind her, as Bunnie came through, and she saw a shimmering field suspended in a monolithic stone archway.

"Zut alors!" Antoine gasped, reaching for the strange stone walls. "Where are we?"

"This is Sandopolis!" Sonic remembered it all too well. "We're halfway across the world?"

"Impossible!" Sally couldn't imagine it. "How…?"

"This is Sandopolis," Belladonna confirmed. "You were brought here by passing through a sort of tesseract. The effect is similar to the phenomenon of Chaos Control."

"You did this?" Sally asked.

Belladonna chuckled. "No. You'll see who I work for in a moment. Follow me, please."

The Sandopolis Ruins were the same as Sonic remembered, but without the ghosts. They walked over a bridge, a river of sand flowing beneath it, and passed through and under more monolithic halls and arches. The Old Dingo City ruins were some of the oldest and most impressive Sonic had ever seen in his many travels around the world. It was a shame there were so inaccessible, but at least it kept them undisturbed as well.

Past one last arch, and into a large courtyard, they met someone else: an echidna girl with a guardian mark on her chest, just like the one Knuckles had but a little slimmer. The fact that she had a small chaos emerald implanted in her chest, just above the collarbone, did not go unnoticed, nor did the sheer volume of chaos energy that flowed through her. He assumed, instantly, that she had brought them here.

"Princess Sally! Sonic the Hedgehog!" Lara quickly gave them both a quick bow before turning to Bunnie and Antoine, "Bunnie Rabbot and Antoine D'Coolette! It is an honor to meet you! You're all quite famous where I come from!"

"Well, we have saved the world a couple times," Sonic replied with his best confident tone.

"Are you the one Nicole mentioned…?" Sally began.

"Oh, no! I'm just another hired hand, I guess," Lara said with a bashful grin.

"Mah stars!" Bunnie gasped and covered her mouth. "Is that…?"

Almost the same color of the pillar he had been leaning against, Miles came out from behind it, and gave them a little wave. "Hey."

"Tails?" Sonic and Sally asked in stereo.

Bunnie finished for them. "Is that really you, sugah?"

"I'm real, for the most part," he answered, with a wayward smile. Tears in her eyes, Sally ran up to him, and embraced him in a crushing hug. He looked a little different from the last time they had seen him, especially his eyes and his height, but his voice, his posture, it brought them all back. Sally rested her forehead on his, and kissed him on the nose, and he chuckled at the gesture.

"It's been a while since you gave me the Funny Kiss," he remarked.

Sally nodded, but it was a very small motion. "It was when you left for Station Square."

"So, where've you been the last few months?" Sonic asked, walking up with a sly grin. "Picking up chicks?"

"Among other things," Tails replied, and took the hedgehog's hand, giving it a firm shake. "It's good to see you in person again, Sonic."

"We had thought, everyone had thought, that you were being deceased!" Antoine had also come forward, hand in hand with Bunnie, who seemed to be wiping away tears with her organic hand.

"Well, I didn't do much to prove otherwise," Tails noted Bunnie's stance, and moved towards her, and out of Sally's arms. This surprised the Princess, and she watched as the kitsune placed his hand on the other girl's shoulder.

"Let me take care of this, first. I know it hurts more than you're letting on." His index finger moved, and entered the metal of Bunnie's shoulder. A second later, he pulled it out leaving no damage behind. In fact, almost instantly, Bunnie stood straighter, as she made a few shallow gasps and then took a long breath.

"My word! What… what was…?" She started to ask, but Tails just chuckled.

"I took care of the killswitch. Both of them. I'm sorry I had to install them in the first place, but it was the Law." He smiled, as Bunnie carefully reached out to hug him, always careful with her strength. It wasn't strictly an issue this one time, but she didn't know that, and he briefly hugger her back, when he heard her whispered "thank you."

Behind him, Sonic smirked and made a loud 'hmm.' "So you're the one behind Nicole, eh?"

"Yes, and no," Tails extradited himself from Bunnie's hug, and walked to where Lara and 'Belladonna' stood, watching. "Things have become rather complicated for me recently. It is unfortunate, but I can not see any way to keep you out of the mess my life has become. Which is a shame, since I'd hoped to spare you of it and let you live out some semblance of a peaceful life. I think you've all earned it."

"But…" His back was to them, his arms crossed behind his back. "I guess that, too, was just my idealism. I freed you, and you alone, because I wanted to keep this to a minimum. I will also be honest with you, and in as much as I can, treat you fairly and justly."

"What do ya mean?" Bunnie asked, not understanding what he meant.

"Lara. Fiona. Show them."

Lara, for her part, just tapped the ruby Emerald in her chest. "This is one of Miles' Emeralds. His Chaos Emeralds."

Fiona smiled, and her arms slid out of their sockets, revealing metal and circuitry. Then, her chest parted down the front, and slid out and forward, while parts of her middle torso came forward, and slid down. Nestled among tubes and wires and intricate machinery, rested an aquamarine sapphire gem that glowed with an inner light.

"I have given birth to a new set of Chaos Emeralds, ones I have been hesitant to use. Not out of fear or jealousy, but because they alter the minds of those who are subjected to them. Fiona here, or Belladonna as you may know her, is an android I rebuilt, and she was already completely loyal to me before I empowered her."

"Lara, here, however… even if she calls it a worthwhile trade, I have stolen something from here I can never repay." Tails sighed at this, and next to him, Lara offered him a small smile. "My dilemma is thus to help you, but not to change you. I believe, thanks to an… old friend, I have a way to do that."

Tails, or Miles, held up his right hand.

"Behold!" He yelled, and bits of sand fell from high above. "His Last Work, His Loyalty made Manifest, his Body and Soul! The Spear of Rhadamanthus!"

With a sound like the crack of lightning, something flashed by with incredible speed, striking the kitsune's gloved hand. A silvery discus of energy coalesced and grew dimmer, forming into a staff, and then one end of it flattened and grew wider. The staff became a mighty glaive, and with a great thunderclap a violet amethyst jewel appeared within the metal blade head.

Slowly, Tails lowered his arm, and rested the blunt end of the spear on the ground. It crackled with energy and power, and Sonic couldn't help but be in awe of the display. This was not some reckless use of chaos powers, this was a vulgar and obscene display of them, and the hairs on the back of his neck stood on edge as he saw the tight and refined control his old friend, his protégé, had over Chaos Control.

And then he turned, and airily tossed the weapon over towards them.

Sally reached up, almost without thinking, and seized it in midair. For a second, there was a silence and a stillness, and then Sally gasped, as coils of purple and white energy ran down her arm and along her body. Her vest became gold along the edges, and up along her back, the upper parts over the shoulders growing larger, and turning into bronze colored pauldrons, with an elaborate birdlike motif. Cannon vambraces enclosed her forearms, wrapping them in steel embroidered with bright brass. Likewise, an electrum ring formed around her left middle finger. Finally, a circlet of white gold, electrum and amethyst gemstones appeared around her head.

"Wow…" Sally breathed.

"The Sword, the Crown, the Ring. These were the covenant your ancestors had with the Source." Miles pivoted so his left side was towards them, one eye dull, and the other brilliant like a heart of a star. "I offer you a New Covenant. I ask only for your companionship and your loyalty. I will not change how you feel or how you think. I want friends and comrades, not servants."

Sally lowered her arm like he had, to rest the end of the Spear on the ground. Except, when she did it, it thundered, and the ground shook. Sand fell from the cavern ceiling, and the stonework at her feet cracked. The kitsune formerly known as Tails chortled, a wide smile on his face.

"Are you with me?"

* * *

Charmy watched, as he unleashed the greatest assembled Armada in the world against the most heavily fortified piece of land on or off the planet. A dozen screens on the bridge of the _Manifest Destiny_ played out what was to come. To the echidna, he had no doubt that his Combined Fleet looked like the hand of Aurora herself, reaching out to darken the horizon.

Fully fourteen Carriers and forty Destroyers were committed to the attack, leaving eight Destroyer craft to guard the slower supply lines and the trailing armored column. Those Princes who had decided to participate in the campaign were commanding from their personal flagships, leaving the most secure and powerful vessel in the Fleet as its indestructible core. This was the _Destiny_, and Charmy found the name all too appropriate. Already, the second phase of the battle was underway, now that the Fleet was properly positioned.

The first wave of attack craft were on approach to Echidnapolis, comprised of almost four hundred fighters. It was less than half the projection capacity of the Fleet, but it was still more than double the effective strength the echidna could muster. Their drone fighters, though plentiful, would not be enough to turn the tide.

Still, the echidna launched them by the hundreds, in a dark cloud that rose from the besieged city. Echidnapolis itself was located at the north shore of Angel Lake, with sprawling property and suburbs extending for miles along the east west axis that followed the shoreline. The heart of the city housed the main theater city shield generator, which was able to project over the inner city, the docks, and a fair way out into the Lake as well. Beyond that, there were four smaller city shields that partially overlapped along the outside of the primary.

The Combined Fleet had to breach the smaller shields, as well as the major one. It also had to rout the echidna Fleet that had rallied to the desperate defense of their capitol. It was not a pitiful force, but it was only a fraction of the size of the Combined Fleet. Charmy was confident that they could be destroyed swiftly, and the shields brought down by concentrated firepower. Then, finally, they could storm the heart of the city, and deal with the twenty four thousand or so soldiers and milita defending it. With them defeated, it would decisively decapitate the Echidnapolis government.

And then, at the last, there would be peace.

On a master display, Charmy could see, in addition to the great masses of fighters steadily closing in on each other, that the Southern Element of the Combined Fleet was almost in position to engage the echidna fleet over the waters of Angel Lake. Under the command of Prince Mello, it was a formidable force, and when the echidna broke and ran, it would be his great contribution to the war effort, in a command capacity. His biggest concern was that the Echidna Fleet be lured away from the shields and guns of Echidnapolis, which was why he kept Center Fleet in reserve.

In the distance near the city, it began.

Far off explosions filled the air from hundreds of missiles, the dying contrails of aircraft spiraling amid the dancing and dueling drones and Xiajyet fighters. The city shields themselves lit up from sporadic crashes and impacts. There was no radio chatter, however. The echidna drone craft were pilot less, and the Xialjyet soldiers in the fighters generally fought in silence.

Charmy didn't even need to give new orders. Everything was going to plan. The second wave began approaching, consisting of seventy four corvette type craft, super heavy fighters designed to attack ground targets and provide an offensive punch under fighter cover. Just behind them were the first two swarms of flying Xiajyet soldiers, dropped from rapid assault craft. All Xialjyet could fly, but it was tiring over long distances, so the closer they deployed the better.

The anti-air defense batteries around the city opened up in response. They had been saving their stores of lighter SAMs for this wave, and several thousand flurry launched to saturate the area. Behind that screen, triple-A flak filled the sky with radar guided explosions and shrapnel. The Swarms were decimated, but penetrated, and behind them came more Xialjyet. And then more.

The Destroyers were supposed to be the next major step in taking the city. They were much smaller than the carriers, being only in the three thousand ton displacement bracket of light capital ships. Fully one in four in Center and North Fleets were the modified Commando or Assault type Destroyer. When the time came, they would rush forward, and land troops at the shield boundary, creating penetrations for troops to attack the city and the generators themselves.

But first, the Echidna Fleet had to be engaged.

He turned his attention to another screen, where statistics were being relayed for the initial round of fighter engagement between the South Fleet and the Echidna. Both had gone for near alpha launches, sending half their fighters out for combat air patrols in defense of their fleets, and the other half on the attack. The air battle there looked savage, but manageable.

The echidna, after all, could only muster six of their Cruisers and eighteen Destroyers. Mello had, on the other hand, six carriers and eighteen Destroyers. While North Fleet inched towards the city, Center under Prince Taji turned south to support.

"My Prince, the echidna are launching their manned fighter craft from Echidnapolis Air Force Base." The voice came from the speakers, amplified so it could be heard by everyone on the bridge. This signified that it was something vitally important. "The fighters are vectoring south, to relieve their Fleet!"

Charmy leaned forward in his seat. "What?"

He looked up, and saw that the entire Echidna fleet was now making full burn forward, under their new fighter umbrella, for the South Fleet. Were they willing to sacrifice the western flank of Echidnapolis itself for a mad gamble at a ship to ship knife fight? No! NO!

"Radio Taji!" Charmy yelled, realizing they'd fallen into a trap. "Tell him to make best time to assist Mello! Order South Fleet to fall back! NOW!"

* * *

Special Agent Taggart brooded over the events relayed to him. Flipping through the report that had just been faxed over the secure channel, he shook his head in dismay. The entire country seemed to be determined to tear itself apart. First, there had been the notification last week about the 'new status' of the Royal Household, and the unofficial war against Mercia, which seemed to be ongoing despite the outright revolts in the south.

The Royal Fleet reflected this disarray. It was being sent out piecemeal, a few to the border with the humans, a few to the southlands, a few to Mercia, even one to the capitol city itself… until the effect of the ships themselves was probably negligible. Not that they had a great fleet to begin with, having to make due with repatriated Battle Bird ships and Eggman built craft seized in dry docks and shipyards.

The problems in Mercia and the Southern Revolt were bad enough news, but now there was chaos in Mobotropolis itself. The Princess and a few of her cohorts had escaped, and now new robot forces were rising out of nowhere and engaging Royal troops, under the command of some new AI calling itself NICOLE. According to the latest reports, they were at the very gates of the Palace itself, and a state of emergency had been declared throughout the Kingdom.

Taggart wondered if there would be a Kingdom left to serve, by the time the negotiators finished butting heads over who would get the _Nor'easter_. The garrison was substantial, over 500 personnel divided between Baker and Charlie Company, detached from the Third Royal Marines and attached to the First Fleet. It was two Assault Destroyer's worth of troops, and as far as he knew, the humans had actually been decreasing their marine commitment to the _Nor'easter_ garrison. Would they ever see any action, or would they wait out the entire Fall of the Kingdom here?

"Major, sir?"

Taggart put down the distressing report from Central Command, and spared one of his military attaché's a curious look. For political reasons, after the war, there were no military officers over the official rank of Lieutenant. Instead, men and women of the Secret Service were given command positions if they had also benefited from military experience. It ensured loyalty above the Company level, but Taggart knew it was causing a lot of grumbling among the young officers who wanted advancement and respect.

"There a problem, Lieutenant?" He asked, and also took a look around at the main bridge. The humans held the battle bridge, deep in the ship, but the mobians held the command deck at the top of the ship. Taggart found some amusement sitting in the same chair that the Eggman had once used; it was surprisingly comfortable.

"Sir," the Lieutenant, a sharp eyes young raccoon who reminded Taggart of a younger him, lowered his head slightly. "Cobra Squad hasn't reported in to their duty station. We sent Badger Squad to investigate, and now their comms are down."

"Interference in that sector?" Taggart asked. "The humans said they'd be running sensor jamming exercises around this time."

"We think that's it, sir." the Lieutenant nodded his head. "Except… well, we lost contact with Badger Squad before they could enter the jamming field."

"Did we just underestimate the size of it, then?" Taggart asked and rested his chin on his closed fist. "Maybe they're improved their technology?"

"We've lost contact with Python Squad!" Another officer yelled, from his post at one of the duty stations. "They were there a second ago and now… nothing! Nothing!"

Now, Taggart was starting to get worried. "All active squads report in immediately! I want to know what's going on out there! Seal emergency bulkheads to command deck!"

"Sir!" "Yes sir!"

Taggart listened, as the twenty active squads reported in – or the seventeen remaining ones did anyway. Each was a ten man unit, larger than the traditional fire teams used by the dingo or human armed forces. There were thirty two squads on the _Nor'easter_, half named for animals (Baker Company) and half for colors (Charlie Company).

"Gold Squad hasn't reported in, sir!" Another aide yelled; a note of panic in his voice.

"Gold Squad?" Taggart looked up at the main display screen, which showed different levels of the ship, and the positions of active teams. "That's close to the C Company barracks. Sent notification to be on alert and to arm themselves!"

* * *

"Get your weapons!"

"Hurry up and get that armor on, damnit!"

"You three! Watch the door!"

C Company barracks was a flurry of activity as troops threw on their combat vests and flak jackets, and opened up weapons lockers. It almost went unnoticed in the confusion when one of the doors to the barracks opened.

* * *

"Sir! I'm… I'm not sure what to make of this…" the young lieutenant from before seemed to be listening hard into his earpiece. "There's sporadic fire coming from inside the C Company Barracks!"

The lieutenant suddenly turned pale. "By the Source… something's killing them…!"

Taggart reached over to the controls on the side of his armrest, and put it on the general speakers. A second later, he wished he hadn't.

"NONONONO!" "HELP HELP HELP!" "TOO FAST! I CAN'T…!"

Gunfire punctuated the words as they turned into screams, and then there was only gunfire and agonized howling and the sound of something cutting through the air, like a buzzsaw. A high pitched squeal and the sound of something tearing made Taggart cringe, and he fumbled for a second before terminating the connection.

* * *

Deep within the Battle Bridge, the same sounds played without interruption.

Behind the Captain's chair, Mya Florentine reached down and patted the man Aya had appointed to run 'her ship' in her absence on the shoulder. She could see that his face was slightly scrunched up in distaste, and yes: a little fear. She couldn't help but laugh lightly at that. It was only natural, she supposed.

"What on Earth is going on out there?" he asked, as the screams died down.

Mya's glasses glinted above her smile. "We're taking back our ship, Captain."

* * *

Back on the Command Deck, there was a long pregnant silence.

"S… send two squads to… no. Wait. Have. Ah." Special Agent Taggart was breathing heavily now, and he quickly wiped the perspiration from his brow. "Have Violet and Black Squads fall back to Junction Three. Reroute Blue Squad, too! Send all available troops to Junction Three! Cut this thing off!"

On the overhead screen, blips began to coordinate and move together. Taggart allowed himself a smile at the sight. More and more troops were moving, mobilizing, getting into strategic positions.

"Forward all comms to the main speakers," Taggart ordered, and cursed the nervousness in his voice.

Again, there was a long silence.

Broken by the sound of a new voice, "This is Black Squad. Blue, Violet and Black are all in position. No sign of the enemy."

And so they waited, but not for long.

"Wait. I see something. It's… what the hell?" The officer's voice suddenly became droned out by massed gunfire. "It's not working! It's deflecting the… OHGAAAHHH!"

Taggart cringed. "Cut communications!"

The screams and the cutting sound ended as quickly as it began. On the screen, the 'active' status of Black Squad terminated, followed closely by Violet and Blue. Only seconds later, White Squad, which had been en route to the area, disappeared.

"C…. close the blast doors. Close them!" Taggart gasped, and watched eagerly as the massive doors sealed, cutting off the Command Deck from the rest of the ship. Only when the doors were sealed shut did he breathe a sigh of relief. Without warning anyone else, he quickly went to his next duty, arming the explosives set throughout the ship, in case the humans attacked and overran the garrison.

And then he watched, as more and more troops marched out to try and contain this new threat. To Taggart's relief, none reported any contact. The good fortune, however, only lasted a minute or so. And then, suddenly, Mongoose Squad, one of B Company's Elites, blinked out. Followed by Bison Squad, and then Rhino Squad, both of which were - or had been - guarding the route to the Command Deck.

Half the eyes on the room turned to the Blast Doors, not sure whether to expect them to provide refuge, or to disintegrate like everything else. They weren't indestructible, but they were made of capital ship grade armor plate. Normally, it would take over an hour and specialized equipment to cut through them. They waited, and watched, but nothing happened.

Tap. Tap.

Taggart turned at the sound, away from the door and towards the armored glass that allowed the Command Deck to look out over the _Nor'easter_. What he saw filled him with confusion, then hope, then fear. For all intents and purposes, what stood just outside the window was another mobian, no more than twenty or so years old. He seemed almost normal, except, of course, for the two long vulpine tails that waved in the wind, soaked red the color of blood.

The mobian, the kitsune, casually brushed his two long bangs back behind his ears and out of his eyes. He wore a simple military uniform, oddly also stained completely red. It seemed like some kind of joke or hoax, at least until the kitsune's tails shot forward, into the glass, and began to cut through it.

* * *

Mya walked into the Command Deck, careful to avoid stepping into any of the pools of coagulating blood. Behind her followed a man of Captain rank, and two soldiers in GUN uniforms. All three took in the carnage with wide eyes. Only Mya seemed unperturbed. She took a long step around a body that had been cut in half at the waist, the entrails uncoiled and spilt out onto the floor.

Approaching the elevated chair in the center of the room, she smiled as it swiveled around. What greeted her was the kitsune fox, whose eyes (for just a fraction of a second) seemed to glow a hellish red. Then he grinned, and his manner became casual to the point of friendly. He promptly reached down to the floor and picked up Special Agent Taggart by the back of his uniform, alive and intact, if unconscious.

"As promised," he finally spoke, in a light and playful tone. "I didn't kill this one."

He let go, and the body returned to the floor.

"You've done a wonderful job," Mya replied, and clapped her hands in a show of appreciation. The three behind her just watched, stunned. "I'm so proud of you!"

"I'm glad you approve," the kitsune replied warmly. "I wanted to be sure they wouldn't be able to set the bombs off, so I disabled them physically, and then hacked the security codes."

Mya nodded, just once. "Why don't you go and wash up, and change clothes?"

"Yes, Mother," The two tailed fox hopped down off the chair, and primly saluted the Captain behind her. "Sir! You have my apology for making such a mess on your ship. Please excuse my methods."

"Ah… of course," The Captain replied, and raised his hand to salute. "It's no problem at all."

"Good!" The fox slowly walked past them to the door, stepping on the skull of one of the slain with a loud crunch. In a few seconds, he was gone, leaving bloody footprints behind. The Captain repressed a shiver.

Mya just chuckled, edging up her glasses with her middle finger.

"We'll be leaving tomorrow, Captain," Mya said, and her voice was also light, but far from friendly. "Please remember what we did for you, today, when the time comes."

She started to leave, when the Captain spoke up.

"And when will that be, Colonel Florentine?"

Mya looked over her shoulder with a smirk. "Soon. Very soon."

And then she and her Demon were gone.

* * *

Prince Mello clenched his teeth, as he watched the _QA-DD Flores_ split in half and explode, raining debris for a thousand meters in every direction. Things were not going well. Radio communication was being jammed, and their fighter deployment was still tied up with their echidna counterparts, in an almost one on one battle.

Below his feet, the _QA-CVN Cuirassier_, his flagship, rumbled, as its light missile launchers unleashed another salvo at the closing enemy. Charmy had ordered them to fall back, but doing so at half commitment, by the time the order had been relayed. Turning the carriers was no easy task, especially since they had different maximum speeds and accelerations. If he ran, the fleet could be picked apart piecemeal. Better to wait, to hold out for Taji and reinforcements.

Outside his ship, heavy laser beams cut through the air, between blazing spheres of plasma, fired from the echidna cruisers. They had finally closed to knife fighting range, though the Xialjyet missiles had drawn blood. The Frigates _Autumn Moon_ and _Tropic Clouds_ were burning as they fell from the sky, and the assault frigate _Half Moon_, pressed into combat duty it wasn't suited for, was already in pieces sinking to the bottom of Angel Lake.

But now, the Echidna had the advantage.

A Detachment of Xialjyet Destroyers angled in flight to meet the enemy face on and cover the maneuvering of the carriers behind them. The LMLs and their heavy flak cannons were their only real capship class weapons, and they concentrated fire on two echidna frigates and an attack cruiser. The echidna, despite being outnumbered, opened fire, red beams lancing from their sides. The Cruiser, _Auspicious Heron_, turned to keep its aim, and crimson bolts of superheated gasses shot out from its frontal dual plasma turret.

One of the Xialjyet Destroyers, the _Zakynthios_, caught the bolts straight on. The left prong of the bow simply snapped off, before a laser added to the carnage, hitting a plasma-weakened part of the hull, and blowing a hole right through. It careened to the side and fell out of the air. Nearby, another Destroyer in the attack wing, the _Zizais_, was hit in the engines, and disappeared into a fireball. A few seconds later, the burning skeleton of a ship fell towards the waters below.

Elsewhere, the echidna cruiser _Divine Heron_, flanked by the Frigates _Evening Clouds, Morning Clouds_, and _Pale Moon_, came about for an attack run through enemy lines. On the way, it met up with the Black Ops Frigate, _Cherry Blossom_. Picking up their approach towards the carriers, the Xialjyet fleet rapidly shifted to direct forces to block their path.

Massed fire from a half dozen Destroyers buffeted the shields of the _Morning Clouds_ and _Divine Heron_. The latter's shields held, but the former's collapsed under the strain. In panic, it fired wave after wave of chaff and decoys, before two waves of missiles crashed into the charging airships. Though the clouds of smoke and ash, the _Divine Heron_ flew on, leaving the blasted and burned down husk of the _Morning Clouds_ behind.

Behind the cruiser, the other Frigates also blasted through the smoke, firing with abandon at any targets of opportunity that more than two of them could get lock on. Blasts tore into the Xialjyer Destroyers, _Casse_ and _Blake_, mauling the former and hitting the ammunition supply of the latter. It exploded, breaking into flaming pieces.

And then, the echidna were free to hit the carriers.

As if in rage for all the lives lost already, the _Divine Heron_ locked onto the _QA-CVN_ _Cuirassier_, one of two Nickelhive carriers side by side. The massive vessels, partly damaged by long range fire and attacks by fighter craft, tried to angle to present a smaller face to the enemy… eight heavy Flak cannons turned on the approaching ship, and their heavy fire finally caused the _Heron_'s shields to flicker and die. Shells raked its hull, sending bits flying into the air.

Finally, the _Divine Heron _and her escorts opened fire, a terrible alpha strike from all their weapons at once. The _QA-CVN Ranger_, sister ship to Prince Mello's flagship, moved up to partially cover its sibling. Repeated laser blasts caused the shields to flare up and expend themselves, before plasma bolts impacted, sending cascades of explosions along her hull. The _Cuirassier_ fared no better, as parts of its structure were sheared off, and a plasma round hit the open hangar built into the side. Fires broke out all along its length, and behind it, the _Ranger_ snapped in two, the forward section tumbling like a torn kite, and the rear section blowing to hell a second later.

Back aboard the _Manifest Destiny_, Charmy watched, pale faced, as the status of the _QA-CVN Cuirassier_ turned from active, to damaged, to critical, to destroyed.

"_Cuirassier_ has been destroyed," a voice said, in monotone. "_Blair_ is damaged. _Isis_ reporting critical condition…."

"Scan… scan debris for lifepods." Charmy realized his voice was barely a whisper, and he took a few shallow breaths before purposefully raising his voice. "Scan for lifepods from the _Cuirassier_!"

A few seconds later, the grim reply came.

"No life pods detected, my Prince. Emergency Frequencies are silent."

Charmy watched, as South Fleet flew into disarray without their leader. He watched, and he saw Prince Mello, his first friend, his oldest friend. He saw, in his mind's eye, that day when his father took him to visit Nickelhive, and to meet the other young Prince. Staring down at his lap, Charmy saw tears pooled on his uniform.

"Send… send following to Center Fleet," Charmy spoke, and paused for a few seconds, gathering his thoughts. "Sent following: Counter attack. Pursue. Destroy Echidna Fleet. All of Them. That is all."

Slowly getting up out of his command chair, Charmy balled his fists, and let the tears flow down his face. Nicklehive was now without its Prince. Another would be bred by Mello's mother, an exact clone in fact, but it wouldn't be him. Wouldn't be Charmy's old friend. In the back of the Prince's right hand, golden energy flared, and with a howl he turned and swing at the back of his chair, tearing it to pieces.

Elsewhere, Echidnapolis' outer regions burned, as warships landed and swarms of troops descended on the suburbs. One of the outer city shields faded and died, when its generator fell prey to Xialjyet engineers. Screams and the sound of weapons filled the streets, while smoke and explosions darkened the mid day skies.

Even higher above, Merlin watched the ebb and flow of the carnage below.

"This will do," he muttered, looking past his feet with an approving grin. "This will do quite nicely."

He alone could see the power, the delicate strands of energy, weaving like a web over Echidnapolis. It swirled and built up, more and more, like an invisible hurricane or tornado rooted in place. And in the eye of that tornado, a power was getting ready to play its surprise trump card. But not yet. It needed more.

More lives for the fire.

More lives for the sacrifice.

* * *

The eyes of the Devourer, however, were elsewhere…

Half a world away, Mobotropolis, too, was in turmoil. Over the last few days, the press had taken to calling the new enemy the "Nicole Legion" after the notorious Combot Legion of the Eggman Empire. With martial law in place, the populace had only to look out their windows or listen closely at night to hear the sounds of fighting that grew daily closer to the Palace.

The Nicole Legion came in a variety of forms, all more suited for urban combat than a proper battlefield. Legionaries, the humanoid robots modified from combot designs, moved slowly forward, finding cover behind walls and vehicles. More mobile spider-like robots transversed rooftops or sped down roads. With military forces committed to so many regions and theaters, what was left, and the conscripted local police and militia, tried to make a stand on the three avenues of attack that led to the Grand Palace.

A blue streak sped by, past the advancing robot forces, and into the ranks assembled to stop them. A cluster of soldiers and police went flying in total disarray, and just as quickly as it had came; the blue streak disappeared, racing up a wall and onto a rooftop. An ad-hoc pillbox tried to fire up at him, but he was gone again, moving along the side of the wall, down and around the small concrete structure.

A second later, the pillbox guns fell silent.

Sonic walked around the side and waited, tapping his foot impatiently, for Nicole's troops to keep pace with him. On his feet, he wore new shoes, high tops; more stylized than his old ones, though still the same red and white color scheme. Rather than a single white band of color, however, these had the white as a trim around the soles and face. A light blue half-emerald was emblazoned on each one on the front of the lip, behind the dual buckles the kept them secured to his feet.

Bunnie landed nearby, the rockets in her bionic legs and feet roaring. A second later, two ranks of Nicole robots, spiders and humanoids, marched past. Several broke off to round up the wounded and disarm them. Sonic nodded in approval at that. He wasn't about to kill anyone, just because they were being tricked into fighting for the wrong side. Then, finally, Sally and Antoine showed up, the former in her new royal battle attire, and the latter looking his normal self except for a new sword strapped to his waist.

"We're almost there…" Sonic said, turning his head to look up at the imposing Grand Palace that was just two blocks away.

"Then this is where we break up," Sally replied, and nodded to them all in turn. "Bunnie. You know what to do. Hit the hangar and make sure the shuttle stays grounded. No one escapes to fight another day. This ends here."

"No problem, Sally girl!" Bunnie held up her left hand, the disruptor cannon popping out and back into its housing in her forearm.

Sally smirked, and faced her Royal retainer. "Antoine. While Bunnie secures the hangar, head into the Royal Quarters and find my brother and sister-in-law. If you can, disable the security firewalls for Nicole."

"Oui!" Antoine replied, then in English, "I mean, yes."

"Sonic. That leaves us."

"Full frontal attack. Sounds fun. Let's get to it!" Sonic and his friends spent just a few more seconds in each other's company, before Bunnie picked Antoine up, and took to the air. When he and Sally were left alone, he turned his eyes back to the Palace.

"Reminds me of that time with the Deep Power Stones," he mused. "You remember that, Sal?"

"How could I forget?" Sally asked, and reached for the Spear strapped to her back. "You ready?"

Sonic barked out a laugh. "Just try and keep up!"

* * *

King Max was not amused.

"St. John," he said, looking down at his servant from his seat on the Golden Throne. "We are receiving news that the Palace itself is under attack. Is this true?"

Geoffrey had his head lowered, and was on one knee.

"My Lord, it is true. However, I have set up the finest defenses… our best troops!" He dared to look up, and then remembered it was no longer possible to see approval on his King's face, or gauge his moods. "The Secret Service and Royal Guard are fresh, and ready to defend this place. I have also personally designed and set up defenses to stop them!"

The King said nothing for a few seconds.

"Very well." King Max grumbled. "However, I would like the following precautions taken."

"My Lord?"

"Ready my personal shuttle, and…" Max rested his hand on the Sword of Acorns. "Have the R-7 neurotoxin protocol ready for activation. I intend it to be my deadman's switch."

"But, My Lord, we have not evacuated… that will kill everyone in the Palace, and…" St. John swallowed his words, and bowed his head. "Yes! My Lord! I will see to it immediately."


	30. Tornado of Souls VI

For only the second time in her life, Sally could follow Sonic's movements. The first, as Sonic had remembered, had been the incident with the Deep Power Stones, which had given them both similar levels of super speed. Her new gifts didn't make her much faster than normal, but her senses seemed to have expanded a hundredfold. Even in the midst of a furious firefight, everything was clear, and moving almost through molasses.

She watched as Sonic ran up to a mobian soldier taking cover behind a barricade, down on one knee and firing at the shoulder. The blue hedgehog simply took his slower opponent by the shoulder, and spun him. Before the soldier even hit the wall and passed out, Sonic was off to his next target. A grenade flew through the air, and Sonic kicked it into the air. It went off a second later, but Sonic was already behind cover, so fast he had been.

Sally spun her new covenant, the Spear of Rhadamanthus, over her head. Tails, or Miles rather, had taught her a few tricks on how to use it, though he had explained she couldn't hope to have Mogul's level of Mastery for many years yet. If she was only able to tap into the basics of its power, then she could only imagine in awe what the ancient tyrant could have done with it.

Not that she initially liked the idea of using one of Mogul's old relics, but that hardly mattered now. Mammoth Mogul was gone, and Miles had given her the weapon as a symbol of the bond between him and her, no one else. Rhadamanthus himself was still worshipped among some canines for his loyalty and steadfastness, and these were traits Sally could appreciate. Mogul was irrelevant, now.

She summoned the power for Form One as the weapon spun, and the air filled with booms, deafening those still around. Sonic would be able to take it, protected by his Chaos powers, but as she could see, the un-enhanced fared far worse. Most fell, holding their hands over their ears, yet others simply lost consciousness.

A Palace Security Droid, however, was not vulnerable to an attack of that type. Four of them stomped forward on massive mechanical legs from behind the cover of a building. They were bad news, armed with automatic grenade launchers and chain guns. She and Sonic immediately shifted their attention to the new threats. Behind them, a Nicole spider robot became riddled with holes and exploded.

"Form Three!" She mentally commanded, and the Spear adjusted itself invisibly. A purple glow engulfed the bladed head of the weapon, and as she ran, it left a violet light trail in her wake. Jumping, she spun in the air to build momentum, and brought the cutting arch of purple light trough the air and into the frontal glacis plate armor of the mech.

The light itself cut, and kept cutting, through metal and plastic and ceramic.

By the time it dissipated, the mech cracked and slid in half, bisected cleanly. To her side, she saw Sonic moving at top speed, first demolishing the external weapons with superspin attacks, and then searching for a weak spot. It seemed to find it, running under the mech, and after a pause of building up his energy, shooting upwards violently. The machine crumpled as he exploded out of the top, flying up into the air and then flipping to land neatly on the ground.

Several rockets streaked by, hitting another of the mechs, which lost both its legs in the ensuing fireball. Sally and Sonic nodded to each other in silent agreement. The way was open. Cutting past the fighting mechs, and avoiding another explosion, they made their way to the cratered Palace Steps, and from there the Inner Courtyard. A contingent of troops stood in the way, but not for long. Form Four shook the earth beneath their feet, and then Sonic was among them, a blue blur blasting from man to man like a pinball.

Finally, finally, they were back in the Palace itself.

They were halfway to the Royal Hall and the Audience Chamber, via the main gallery, when the wooden doors behind them fell off their hinges. Quickly, metal shutters fell to take their place, and electrified with a soft hum. The paintings and portraits on the walls lowered into the wall, and were replaced by spherical turrets bathed in what looked like fog.

"What's this? Oh, it's you two." The voice that came from the hidden speakers was undeniably that of Geoffrey St. John. He sounded busy, as if he was talking while running. "Don't really have much time to banter, so I'll just say this: Princess, I'd strongly advise you to surrender. Otherwise, you won't get out of this room alive. I'll come by and arrest you two once things have calmed down… Ey! What're you…!"

"Why that dirty skunk! No time for banter?" Sonic made a fist and shook his head sadly. "Eggman would've never been so sloppy…!"

Sally gave him a disbelieving look. "You wanted to exchange insults with him."

"It's a time honored tradition!" Sonic replied, over-dramatically. "You call each other names, and then boast about yourself, and then someone leaves while laughing! He broke _The Code_!"

Sally just let out an exasperated sigh. "That's pretty pathetic if it's true…"

"Well, let's see what's so special about this trap!" Sonic took a few steps forward, and instantly two of the wall turrets locked in on him. But instead of firing bullets or beams, they started to … sprinkle. Sonic instinctively jumped back, and the fine mist lingered in the air. Sally whistled, and pointed to the floor.

The rug was frozen solid.

"Liquid Nitrogen," Sally explained with a frown.

"Ok. Definitely not cool." Sonic also frowned and looked around. "We'll have to find a way around…"

* * *

"…I'll come by and arrest you two once things have calmed down." Geoffrey St. John was not having a good day. Not at all. He was about to say more into the Secret Service headset that had become so ubiquitous he hardly thought about life without it, when he saw a trio of his Agents running away from the Hangar. 

"Ey! What're you blokes doing?" He held out his hands, blocking their path.

"St. John sir!" The first of them saluted, but he looked ragged. "That cyborg! She's in the main hangar with the ex Captain!"

"And you're running away from them!" St. John felt like taking them out back and shooting them. "Follow me! The King will have our hides if we lose the Hangar!"

Geoffrey quickly snapped on the bandolier he'd picked up just a minute before after leaving the Audience Hall, and checked to make sure everything was in place. Running up a flight of steps, he entered the wing of the Palace with the Hangar. It was easy enough to get to, even for someone who didn't know the layout of the Palace like the back of his hand. On the way, he found and rallied no less than a half dozen other cowards who had fled for it.

The inner doors were already open, and when St. John stepped through them, he groaned inwardly at what he saw. Agents and Royal Guards were strewn all over the place. Most looked alive, at least. The static defenses, the turrets and even the man-portable gun platforms, were completely unsalvageable. Worse, two of the three Royal Shuttles looked like they'd been through a recycling machine.

"Well, if'n it ain't St. John!" A voice called from above, and Bunnie flipped down from her perch on some of the metal catwalks used to service the royal ships. She stood, completely un-intimidated, with one hand on her robotic hips.

"You!" St. John growled. "This time I won't go so easy on you! Senescence; the metal rusts!"

Bunnie pursed her lips, and looked down at herself, then back up at him.

"Senescence; the Metal RUSTS!" He said again, louder, and then let out a long suffering sigh. "You had the killswitches deactivated somehow, didn't you?"

Bunnie tapped her nose.

"Ok. The old fashioned way, then." He snapped his fingers. "Open FIRE!"

Bunnie's rockets immediately activated, scooting her back as St. John's troopers cut loose with their weapons. Her left arm covered her body and face effectively, and bullets pinged harmlessly off the hardened metal frame. The bullets, even if they hit her organic parts, probably wouldn't cause any really threatening injuries, but it wasn't like she liked being shot either. Suddenly, her sensors picked up a new threat, and she looked up over her fist to see something the size of a grenade in the air.

Warning: EMP Device Activated

"Aw, damnit…"

And then the little device exploded in a white flash, scrambling her more unprotected circuitry. Her HUD became a mess, with malfunctioning displays and grainy static. St. John watched Bunnie suddenly stagger, confused, and he leveled his GAST, loaded with 'special' ammo. The HV rounds would chew up the gun barrel and make it useless, but who cared at this point?

He had to be careful, however. He knew Bunnie was equipped with regeneration mechanisms and redundant biomechanical organs. To get a kill, one had to hit her in the head, and punch through the sub dermal plates. Not easy, especially with her moving around, but not impossible either, for a trained marksman.

"Sir! Look out!"

"Eh?" St. John stepped back just in time, as he saw the shadow from above. There was a flash, and the forward half of his handgun corkscrewed through the air. The skunk cursed, and jumped back as another flash nearly cut him in half. A safe distance away, now, St. John spared a look at his gun: the cut was so clean; it looked like it had been done by an industrial laser.

Antoine stood before them, holding a rapier, but not one the Royal Guard used. The base was thicker, and reinforced, just over where the cross guard was attached. The blade itself shone with a silver brilliance.

"You are being faster than you look… n'est-ce pas?" Antoine lowered the tip of his sword, and easily cut a line in the Hangar floor with a spray of sparks.

"High Frequency Sword." St. John snorted. "An honest to Source vibroblade! Where the hell did you guys get all these new toys?"

"Royal Guards!" St. John looked over his shoulder, and saw the three Guards he had with him holding up their hands in surrender. With a grunt, he reached behind him for his backup GAST. "Bloody hell…"

* * *

The _Manifest Destiny_ unleashed another colossal blast of white ionic energy, pummeling the primary city shield of Echidnapolis. The echidna resistance in the air had finally been properly driven from the field, losing over two thirds their number. What was left had turned tail and ran, and Charmy had given Prince Taji and Center Fleet permission to pursue, to destroy the echidna fleet completely, and to avenge the loss of Prince Mello. Move missiles impacted the shield, and with one last gasp, it shattered and fell. 

Charmy allowed himself a savage grin.

His chair gone, he settled for standing, watching the final phase of the invasion. The last of his Assault Destroyers landed, disgorging their swarms of troops into the heart of the city. Losses had been much heavier than anticipated, with almost all of South Fleet damaged or destroyed, and substantial elements of Center and North Fleets also damaged or crippled by ground emplacements. But with the shield down, things were almost over.

All he had to do was wait, and let his warriors do their thing.

In all, Charmy had brought over twenty one thousand soldiers to fight, in three waves. Behind him, the slower armored columns and escort forces advanced, another twenty thousand troops waiting to join the battle and secure the city. The echidna defenses were both soldiers and militia in equal numbers, and as expected, they were fighting hard for their homes and families.

The _Manifest Destiny_ drifted over the heart of the urban squall, taking potshot at targets of opportunity with the point defense weapons. Unknown to anyone onboard, its position was being carefully monitored. Cloaked figures moved through the city, and gathered for a precision strike.

"Another shield bubble is developing!"

Charmy scoffed at hearing that. What could…?

"Right below us!"

"What!" Charmy looked desperately from screen to screen, but didn't see anything useful. A shield below them? The interaction of two shields on contact with each other created a destabilization, allowing a sufficiently reinforced projectile to penetrate. The humans were the only ones, as far as Xialjyet Intel knew, to really take advantage of the interaction effect to create shield piercing torpedoes, because of technical difficulties and doctrinal differences. A sufficiently powerful shield generator was not easy to fit on most things.

"Picking up Dark Legion hoverpods!"

"Commandos?" Charmy laughed. "Useless! Shoot down as many as you can. There's no way they can harm this battlecarrier!"

* * *

Unnoticed by Charmy, a single echidna glided under his own power towards the ship. Knuckles angled himself carefully, and hit the disrupted shields of the _Manifest Destiny _fists first. There was substantial resistance, but his powers protected him, and he finally broke through. Doing so had caused him to undershoot the fighter hangar, but he wasn't worried. Getting a good grip on the side of the ship, he started to climb… 

Less than a minute later, he found his last handhold, and pulled himself up.

The hangar was a cavernous space, with berths for dozens of fighter and corvette craft, and several transport shuttles. Xialjyet workers and warriors were everywhere, scurrying to repair damaged craft and prep others for launch. Knuckles cupped his hands, cracked his knuckles, and ran into the nearest thick of them.

* * *

"Sir! Disturbance in the Main Hangar!" 

Charmy raised an eyebrow at that. "How can that be? We've been swatting these Dark Legion gnats from the sky!"

"It seems… one individual… is tearing through our forces," the voice came over the speaker, with just a trace of trepidation. "We believe it may be the Guardian."

"Knuckles." Charmy sighed. "I suppose this was inevitable…"

"Sir. Hangar Defenses are down. Point Defenses in that area are inoperable."

"It looks like we'll have to repel boarders." Charmy started to head for the door. "Send in the reserves. All of them. I will deal with Knuckles and the Chaotix personally."

* * *

Sonic grunted from the strain, as he pushed off the wall. Wall jumping was hard enough, but doing it with someone in your arms was many times worse. Not that Sally was heavy (or, not that he's say that she was out loud), but he just wasn't well built for it. He could out jump a meat head like Knuckles easily enough (Sonic almost chuckled at that thought), but this sort of thing wasn't what he generally practiced often. 

But it was the quickest way trough the hall. There was no way to get by normally without getting a extra-cold shower of liquid nitrogen, and the door behind them wasn't just electrified, but booby trapped with a bomb as well. Since Sally had no idea how to diffuse it, or if it was similarly safe to go through the walls (or even try) that left this route. The turrets seemed to only target things walking along the ground.

So here he was, wall jumping as close to the ceiling as he could manage, with Sally in his arms. Again and again he jumped, pushing off before he could fall. The hall was long, too, pushing him to his limits. A single slipup, and they would both fall, and a few spritzes later… He didn't even want to think of it. Instant icicles or maybe they'd just shatter. Not good at all.

Damn that St. John!

It was a good trap! The least he could have done was make with some evil laughter, and say, 'Farewell, you pesky hedgehog!' or 'This should put you on ice!' or 'Hohohoho! I've got you this time!' Something like that. Only an amateur villain didn't use puns or veiled threats. Even Snively had known better!

"Ta da!" Sonic made a perfect three point landing at the end of the room, and quickly let Sally stand on her own two feet. Because his hurt. Not that he would admit that fact, but he just hated wall jumping so much! If he never had to do it again it would be too soon.

"All right!" Sally reached for the door, to open it. "Let's…" She gave it a pull, but it didn't open. "Oh. It's locked."

"Can you cut it open?" Sonic asked pointedly. "Do NOT tell me I have to wall jump us back over there!"

"I should be able to…" Sally never got to finish her sentence, as the doors opened themselves. Freckled multicolored light streamed down from the painted glass high above in the Audience Chamber ceiling. There was no music in the hall this time, save the distant staccato chatter of gunfire. Red and velvet and black drapes swayed softly from the change in air pressure caused by opening the doors, and at the far end of the hall, on a Throne of Gold, the roboticized shell of King Maximilian the First sat in brooding silence.

The two approached him, their shoes and boots resounding off the marble floor, and echoing throughout the hall. King Max didn't move, didn't run. His hand rested easily on the pommel of his sword, and he waited.

"Father…" Sally said, he voice low. Then, shaking her head and steeling her resolve, she yelled, "FATHER!"

For a few seconds, he just sat there.

And then…

"So: Jezebel returns with her Black Knight to dethrone the rightful King," he stood as he spoke, his hand wrapping around the hilt of the Sword of Acorns, the more precious family heirloom of that royal family.

"And the King saw her, and her perversion, and he said…" Drawing his sword. "You have consorted with False Gods and you have Slept with Demons. You have turned from the Glory of the Source, and remade the noble into the wicked. And I shall not forgive you this."

"I spared you before, my precious daughter, out of fatherly love." Max's unchanging, ironclad face betrayed no emotion, but his voice spoke of heartbreak and the pain of betrayal. "This time, as your King, I will _kill_ you."

* * *

The building behind her crumpled, as an explosion reduced the lower floors to rubble. A swarm of Xialjyet flew by, chittering to each other in unintelligible bee-speak. The bark of an automatic energy rifle filled the air, and two of the warrior insects fell out of the air, thrashing wildly. She ignored them, and the other nuisances. All but one. 

Cream rested her hands on her hips, and stared. "And who are you?"

The girl seemed her age, an echidna, with a Guardian crest. She wondered if it was a dye job, like she'd heard was semi-fashionable. Regardless, the other girl wasn't much to look at; she was rather standard in all respects.

"Just a friend of a friend," the echidna girl responded, her arms confidently crossed.

"Somehow I doubt that." Cream reached to her side, and flexed her fingers. A half dozen Xialjyet who strayed too close, probably thinking to pick her off, fell to pieces in midair. She looked around, trying to find her light, to find…

"Looking for this?" Lara held up a struggling mass of yellow and blue.

"Cheese!" Cream screamed, and was about to attack, when Lara held him right in front of her.

"Oh, he's just so cuuute!" Lara cooed, and hugged the chao close to her chest. It started to struggle even harder. Cheese's hand brushed against the emerald in Lara's chest, and flinched sharply as if burned. Indeed, a wisp of smoke rose from its hand where contact had been made.

"Oh? It seems he doesn't like my jewelry…" Lara snickered, keeping her eyes on Cream. "I've always wanted a pet chao, you know."

"You…" Cream started to slowly walk forward. "You let him go right now!"

"Really. It's your own fault for letting him wander around," Lara said, and held Cheese out, as if to hand him over. Cream came closer, and closer, when she suddenly paused as if sensing something.

"What?" She asked, but not Lara, instead addressing the Chao. "Yes. I feel it too. Something…"

'Get her attention but try not to kill her, he says. Oh, sure, that's easy, I say. Me and my big mouth.' Lara quickly put a halt to the pointless thoughts, and returned her focus on the here and now. If all was going right, then the battle in Mobotropolis would be getting the Devourer's attention, while the larger (but less apparently relevant) battle here in Echidnapolis went undisturbed. That meant keeping the corrupted former Freedom Fighter now calling herself Cream occupied.

"You know what they do to stray animals without a collar in Echidnapolis?" she asked, and tightened her grip on the chao. "THIS!"

Her power flared, and the Mad Chao instantly burst into flame.

Cream's jaw dropped, and she covered her face with her hands. "What… what have you done? Cheese? I can't hear him anymore! I'm all alone!"

Lara dropped the burning piece of meat, and wiped her hands together. 'Well, that should hold her attention…'

"I'm all alone. I'm all alone. I'm all alone!" Cream's body started to convulse, and she screamed, eyes wide and wild. The flesh on her arms peeled away and fell to the ground like flecks of paint, revealing silver lines and raw patchwork organic armor the color of day dried blood. A triad of long bladed spikes grew out of her forearm, curving back and mounting a smaller spike behind them. The underbody stretched from her neck to her arms, and on the curve of her shoulders, a gem appeared, violet on the right, sapphire on the left.

A third eye opened in the middle of her forehead.

'The Eye of Ysbadadden,' Lara confirmed, with grim finality. 'His powers in her right arm. The powers of Sekhmet in her left.'

Cream's left hand came up, fingers clenched, before turning to point at Lara. The echidna girl instantly used her powers to construct a shield around herself to block and nullify chaos energy. Silver lines hit the shield a millisecond later and curved around and off it, slicing apart the street to her left and right, and neatly cutting a lamppost in half.

"Ok." Lara looked from side to side with some trepidation. "That's a neat trick…"

* * *

Knuckles backhanded another of the Xialjyet interlopers, sending it flying into a bulkhead with a sick crash. He, the Chaotix, and a half dozen of the Dark Legion's finest commandos had managed to turn the hangar into a warzone. Xialjyet bodies were piled up in places, and hundreds of others were flung around, hanging limply from broken fighter craft, or crawling around on the ground. 

Knuckles was loving every minute of it.

His fists were hammers, and the face of every insectoid Xialjyet he met was a nail to pound in. He uppercutted one, sending it flying high into the air. He was stronger than ever, more powerful than ever, fully recovered from that explosion in Haven. He saw Vector, another powerhouse, plowing through a handful of Xialjyet workers, his powerful fists sending them reeling.

Mighty, too, was in his element, swinging a massive piece of pipe several times his size like a baseball bat. More and more Xialjyet swarmed down from entrances above the in front of them, like an unending tide. With a warcray, Mighty tossed the pipe at a group of warrior Xialjyet with guns, crushing them. To Knuckles, it sounded like someone eating cornflakes. He grinned wider.

Even Julie, who had seemed somewhat reluctant to be working with the Dark Legion, much less being in command of them, was holding her own. She was with the other commandos, directing their fire to different areas, while occasionally adding some of her own Type-3 Dark Legion PPG handgun. How many had they killed so far? He'd long since lost count of how many had fallen victim to his own fists.

Then, he felt an approaching power.

At the far end of the hangar, Knuckles saw some new colors besides the usual yellow and black. Red. White. A cape. He knew instantly that things were finally being taken to the next level. Swatting away the last annoying Xialjyet in reach, he started heading towards a more worthy opponent.

Charmy looked over the carnage in the main hangar, and motioned to his elite guard. The Praetorian Guard were his finest shock troops, taken from those assigned to guard the egg chambers and the Queen of the Hive herself, the one indispensable member of the colony. They were larger and more savage than any Xialjyet warrior save the elites of the Giant Hornet Hive.

And he had dozens of them.

"You made a mistake coming here!" Charmy yelled, as he led them.

"The mistake was yours! When you Betrayed the Chaotix!" Knuckles yelled back. Something caught the echidna's eyes, and he saw Mighty charging forward. He thought, at first, about stopping him, but then decided to let the armadillo get his chance. It was only fair.

Charmy swept back his hands, keeping his Elites behind him. Mighty made no attempt to hide his attempted haymaker - throwing caution and subtlety to the wind. Charmy let him come, and reached up unfasten his cape, throwing it aside. His right hand glowed, and he disappeared.

Mighty slowed in his charge, and looked around, confused. "Where…?"

"You're too slow, Mighty." Charmy placed his hand on Mighty's back.

"When did…?" Mighty's question was cut short as he was sent flying, his entire body in pain, and his mind nearly blacking out. He hit the ground, rolled, bounced off a nearby metal ramp, and landed between two dead Xialjyer warriors. Charmy shook his head and lowered his right hand, wisps of smoke wafting between his fingers.

"That's what I'm talking about!" Knuckles motioned Julie, Vector and the others to follow him. A hundred feet from where Charmy stood, he stopped. Julie took the opportunity to run over to where Mighty lay, fighting to stay conscious.

"I didn't betray the Chaotix," Charmy explained with a scowl. "I sided with my people. I'm going to bring peace to this Island!"

"You call this peace!" Vector scouted, sweeping his hand towards the death around them.

"It is the horror of war that gives us peace," Charmy insisted. "Angel Island was divided, and war would have come sooner or later, with or without me. The forest grows back stronger and healthier after a fire. This Island will prosper, united, under the flag of Goldenhive and the Quaz Xialjyet!"

"Charmy…!" Julie cried to him, but it was obviously too late.

He just shook his head. "If you hate this war so much: try and stop it. Try and stop me."

Knuckles smirked. "Let's go."

Charmy pointed, and his Elite Guard charged. "Let's."

* * *

Sonic watched Sally fight, knowing he couldn't help. He had learned first hand the energy draining powers of the Sword of Acorns when wielded by its master. Normally, that would not have deterred him, but with Max's new body essentially an extension of that sword, there was nothing he could do. Just touching Max, even to strike him, would seal his doom. 

So he watched.

Max handled the sword like it was truly an extension of his body and soul, stepping in and out with pinpoint lunges. Sally, who had only had a few days to train to use the Spear of Rhadamanthus, was at an innate disadvantage. What surprise there had been for the King that his opponent was now immune to his life draining power had quickly been replaced with a determination to do the job the only way that was left.

Sally spun the Spear, parrying a blow and using it to open a counterattack. She could not use the weapon to its full potential yet – indeed, it was possible she never could. Tails had explained in detail how Mogul had wielded it, and the techniques he had observed and found out for himself. She, however, was not a weapon fighter by choice. She had to use it differently.

She willed it to be as flexible as it could be, and advanced on her father, twirling the tip of the glaive to make her eventual strike less obvious. He kept his sword level, blocking it evenly, and avoiding when she struck hard and down, the marble floor shattering where the blade hit.

Max landed on his feet with a heavy thud, and Sally pressed her attack.

She was nimble, agile, even more so than before. She spun both herself and the weapon, creating two deadly arcs. Max tried to follow her movements, so he sidestepped, and as she got close, his sword cut through the air in a figure eight, deflecting a half dozen strikes. Sparks flew from between them, but the King was undeterred, and he suddenly pushed forward, throwing Sally off balance.

She cart wheeled back, and out of reach, breathing heavily.

Her former father just chuckled darkly, his own fatigue no longer even an issue. He short stepped, his right arm moving faster and faster as he stabbed at his daughter. Sally desperately moved to block or avoid the attacks, and took a chance by trapping and pushing the sword off course, leaving just enough opening for a snap kick.

Max held up his left hand and blocked it while leaning back slightly. He quickly reversed the grip of his sword in his outstretched right hand, and pulled it back. Sally, caught by surprise, barely moved enough to save her right arm. She fell to the ground and rolled out of the way as her father stomped down with a roboticized foot.

Sally winced at the pain, and clutched her right arm. Blood flowed freely from between her fingers, and she quickly wiped it off and put her hands back on her only means of defense. She was tired. Not even counting all the fighting getting to the Palace, she had been dueling her father for over ten minutes without rest.

Max returned his sword to the proper gripping style, blade forward and not reversed. The Sword of Acorns dripped with the blood it had been meant to protect, but he flicked it clean with a single sharp move. He began walking towards Sally again, his pace relentless. She backed up.

The blade of the Spear glowed vivid heliotrope, and Sally swung it at him desperately. Max just swept up the Sword of Acorns to intercept the energy headed towards him. On contact, it dissipated. He laughed.

"That's an impressive weapon," he admitted. "But you will never defeat me. And when I'm done with you, I'll dispose of your worthless lover here. Even Elias, who I had such hopes for, is just another risk I cannot afford. I shall return all of you to the dustbin of history where you belong!"

Sally caught her breath, and charged. Max met her with his sword, blocking a frontal strike, and then one to the knees. He turned to his side, brought his arm back, and blocked the reverse blow to the back of his neck. Sally would never know it, but he was faster, stronger, better than he had ever been. Even as a young man, when he had been a champion level duelist.

Still, she tried. She used her legs and feet, and kicked him in the back of his knees. It barely phased his robotic physiology, though it was a clever move, and in response he sucked her in and slammed the pommel of the sword of her Ancestors into her midriff. She braced herself and tried to block the follow up strike with her spear, but Max wasn't just aiming to slash at her.

As his sword hit her spear, he straightened out his arm and took a step forward with his right foot. The angle was not enough for a deep thrust, but it was enough. Sally wheeled back, yelling this time, as a fountain of blood erupted from her right shoulder. She struggled to stay on her feet, but he didn't give her the chance.

The first swing, she blocked, and the second as well, her movements desperate and hasty. It left her left side exposed. He cut down, and caught her left leg, but missed the most vital artery in the thigh. She made a pained sound, and fall back, holding her weapon across her body, hoping it would provide some measure of safety.

He took his aim for the killing blow.

When suddenly, everything went dark. Sonic ran around the Iron King, twice, wrapping him up in the velvet drape he had torn down. Then, with all his strength, he pulled, and swung. King Max flew halfway across the room before hitting a pillar with a crash.

Then, Max tore his way free, ripping the cloth like tissue paper.

"I see you've gotten your speed back," Max said, quickly extraditing himself. "Let's find out how long it takes me to drain it out of you."

* * *

It was total chaos. 

Knuckles swiped at Charmy, and jumped after him as the smaller fighter ducked and flew back. He passed by a pair of Praetorians tearing apart a Dark Legion commando, and he saw Julie standing on a pile of bodies, firing wildly, a gun in each hand. He didn't know where Vector or Mighty were. Really, it was too bad Espio hadn't come.

Charmy was fast, and incredibly maneuverable. He moved in one direction, and then the next, and then shot off at high speed to higher ground. Knuckles followed him up a wall, missed hitting him by an inch, and then had to quickly move one hand down to block the bee Princes' ever dangerous right hand.

The flipped away, and Charmy faded to the left, and then the right, and back to the left. Knuckles took to the right, a flying backhand missed, and he kicked, but as always Charmy used his wings to avoid the strike. The bee turned, and Knuckles avoided his stinger,a and then batted aside his fist.

Charmy spread his arms, and shot backwards like a bottle rocket. Knuckles was after him in a heartbeat, and they spring boarded off the floor, the wall, and the ceiling. Suddenly, in midair, Charmy became aggressive again, his right hand heading right for Knuckles' face. The echidna former Guardian barely had time to grab it around the wrist.

"What…?" Knuckles pupils grew wide, as he saw what looked like hundreds of little spikes in Charmy's hand. Then they retreated back into his glove, like they were never there. The two kicked off each other, and landed on the ground.

"See something you didn't like?" Charmy asked, the fingers of his right hand curling wickedly.

"See some of what you did to Mighty, now," Knuckles replied, and moved his head back and forth, making little popping sounds in his neck. "That must be the power you get from the emerald."

"It is…" Charmy held up his hand, and a long stinger extended out of the palm. "The stinger is really the most deadly part of my body, and now not only can I move it to my hand, but that is just the tip of the iceberg. Like… so!"

He shot his hand forward, and the stinger detached, becoming a missile.

Knuckled dodged it at the last second, and it punched a hole in the wall behind him. Charmy, unimpressed, still held out his hand. Suddenly, thousands of tiny stingers shot out, a machine gun rain impossible to avoid. Knuckles didn't even try and move. He just pulled back his fist, and hit the ground. A section of the floor, a plate of metal over three meters to a side, rose up in response, forming a makeshift shield.

In a second, a thousand little stingers riddled the steel plate.

"That…" Charmy looked to his sides, for a counter attack, and then felt something around his ankles. Knuckles exploded out of the ground at his feet, spun in the air, and slammed Charmy into the ground, before tossing him into two of his own soldiers, who had been about to hit Vector from behind.

"Woah!" Vector tried to cover his head, and looked from where Charmy lay, among the broken bodies of his elite guards, and back to Knuckles. "Thanks for the save, man!"

"Watch your back next time," Knuckles growled, and jumped, his fist cocked.

Charmy wasn't done just yet. Getting his feet on the ground, he reached to the side and tossed one of the Praetorian bodies at the attacking echidna. Knuckles batted it aside, and hit the ground just as Charmy became fully mobile again. His fist punched a hole in the metal, but it pulled it out with a grunt, and went back to chasing his foe.

* * *

"Damn that St. John!" Antoine cursed his old associate's name, and not for the first time in the last few minutes. The skunk had been forced to fall back once Bunnie rejoined the fight, and his men started to desert him. Antoine had hoped to catch him as he escaped, but the Secret Service Agent had gotten away when Antoine remembered his priorities. 

He reached the Royal Quarters in good time, only having to deal with two of the cockier members of the Royal Guard. Most, knowing he had been Captain and was thus much better than they, simply stood down. He supposed it was rather unbecoming for an elite organization, but for now at least, it was much more convenient.

Unfortunately, it looked like he had one more obstacle to deal with.

"Ho ho! The ex-Captain finally shows up to be put in his place!"

It was Norberto Vanguard, one of Antoine's subordinates who had been clever (or just cutthroat) enough to assume command after his ouster. He was a feline, calico with orange streaks, and not unskilled. He was also something of a braggart and a dandy, even by Antoine's standards. And weren't calicos only supposed to be female?

"Norberto," the coyote addressed him with obvious annoyance.

"Captain Vanguard to you!" The tomcat stomped his foot, and draw his rapier. "I am Captain now, and you are nothing more than a vagrant! You see, how…"

Antoine flicked his wrist twice, and sheathed his HF blade.

"How… ah…" Norberto's sword broke into three pieces, leaving him with little more than a stump and a guard over his hand. Biting his lip, he fell to his knees. "Forgive me Captain! I had no choice! St. John made me do it!"

Antoine grimaced at the display. 'Shameless…!'

"The keys to the Royal Quarters, if you please." He held out his hand. Norberto fumbled and quickly handed them over before running for the door. Antoine patted the hilt of the vibroblade Miles had made for him. Vanguard was actually a very good, if inflexible and cowardly, swordsman. Though his position in the guard came as much from his supposedly good breeding and noble family. If not for being totally outclassed in the weapons department, he would've probably fought tooth and nail.

Well, maybe not nail.

Antoine quickly opened the Royal Quarters, and made a search for where the Prince and his wife and child were being held. On the way, he passed by the Queen's Quarters, and curious, he opened the doors.

"Queen Alicia?" he asked, raising his voice a bit. "My Queen? Are you around?"

Walking in deeper, he heard beeping. Pushing open to the doors to the Queen's bedroom, he saw her. Sally's mother lay, seemingly asleep, on her bed. The medical equipment set up, however, indicated her rest was anything but natural or peaceful. Antoine's eyes were drawn to her medical chart, and he skimmed it.

"Heart Attack," he said, quietly, and bowed his head to her before taking his leave to find her son.

* * *

Sonic circled the Iron King, but knew his options were limited. He had tried throwing things, but his attacks all involved actual contact with his opponent. He couldn't think of anything else that was effective. He'd even tried knocking down one of the pillars, so it could hit his opponent, but Max was a lot smarter and faster than the dumber varieties of Eggman robot those tricks sometimes worked on. 

"I grow weary of this!" Max roared making two lightning quick slashes that Sonic was fast enough to elude.

"You and me both, pal!" Sonic stopped and wagged a finger. "So why not just give up?"

Max lowered his weapon, and turned to where Sally lay, wrapping a piece of cloth around her leg to try and stop the bleeding. Turning his back on the hedgehog, he began towards her, dragging the tip of his sword on the ground, where it made a cruel scraping sound.

"Hey! Over here! You old fart!" Sonic ran closer, to try and tempt the King to shift his attention back onto him. "I thought you wanted a fight!"

Max chuckled, and continued towards Sally, who had the Spear, but had lost a lot of blood. Sonic jumped in dangerously close, desperate to him to turn around, but Max ignored the azure hero.

"You're wrong. I never wanted a fight." Max was almost in striking distance. "Now: Watch. Watch, and realize your helplessness. Your powerlessness."

Max's hand came down, but stopped. Sonic stood in front of him, holding the King's gauntleted hand, preventing the killing blow. The Iron King seemed to be surprised by this, but it only lasted an instant. Then, the sword began to glow, ominously, and Sonic felt his strength – even his new energies – leave him. The dam had been broken, and like before, everything was pouring out without control.

"Sonic!" Sally gasped from behind him. "No!"

"You're a fool. You could have escaped, and caused me trouble. But now…" Max pushed down, and Sonic's failing strength was barely enough to hold him back. "Now you will die a useless and pointless death, delaying the inevitable."

"Useless? Pointless?" Sonic managed a weak smile and even laughed. "And people call me an idiot. You think I'm unhappy, trading a few years of my life, for a minute of hers?"

"If you love my daughter so much," Max said, and pushed down again. Sonic fell to one knee. "I'll bury you two side by side!"

Sally struck up with her Spear, but her tired state made her slow, and the attack was easy to see coming. Max just took a step back and out of range. Sonic let go of his wrist, and fell back, where Sally caught him. The sword continued to glow, drawing the life out of him, and the scene, with him in her arms… it was just like the dream.

He even found himself saying the same words.

"That was too easy… did you really think this fool the next King?" he asked, and saw the growing horror, and anger, in her eyes. "Now Jezebel… We come at last to you, who corrupted the Order of Knights, who turned him against me… who plotted and schemed and betrayed for her own petty purposes and indulgences…"

"Sonic!" Sally pleaded, deviating from the script. She lowered him to the ground. "I'm so sorry…"

"You have wronged our Kingdom!" Max snapped. He, at least, knew his part and his lines. He was Marius! He had been betrayed! He was just making things right again! History would remember him and condemn her!

"Forgive me," Sally ran her hand down Sonic's face, and took in his smile. Then, she forced herself to her feet, and faced her father.

"You brought this on yourself!" Max yelled, but the sound of a door opening caught his attention. He looked behind him, and saw St. John stumble in. The skunk was short of breath, and bleeding from his arm, where his crossbow had been damaged.

"My Lord!" He called. "The hangar! Couldn't hold it! Your son… The ex-Captain has gone to set him loose! I went to Central Command. Our forces outside are near the breaking point!"

"I will deal with those other pests in due time," Max replied, utterly confident. "As you can see, I'm almost done here."

He lunged, and Sally parried it, falling back. He lunged again, and she blocked it, most slowly. He was toying with her, and they both knew it. On the ground, Sonic groaned, and curled into a fetal ball. The sword of Acorns turned from a blue glow, to a red one.

"Do you see it?" Max asked. "This blood red glow. Before, I only drained the extra energy, the chaos energy, from him. Now, I will take my time and drain him completely, until only a withered husk remains!"

Sally shook her head, and tried to attack, but he batted the strike away with contemptuous ease.

"This little rebellion of yours is about to end. And then I will return my attentions to Mercia, and the cities of the south. I will retake them, and I will decimate their populations, as my grandfather did when he first took those lands. All that offends me, I shall put to the torch. All who oppose me; I shall put to the sword!"

Another voice came from behind, as Elias and Antoine burst in.

"Father! Stop this madness!" Elias started to run towards him, but Max whirled on his son. The former Prince had to dart back to avoid being slashed. As he faced his original opponent, his daughter, Sally lifted her Spear, and threw it over his head.

"Elias! Catch!" she yelled.

"What is it?" He took a step back, and held out his hands. The Spear was flying in a lazy, easy arc through the air, headed right for him. But before it got within reach, Elias felt something hit him. As he fell to the ground, he saw Geoffrey St. John in his place, reaching up.

"I have it!" St. John cheered, and the Spear of Rhadamanthus was in his hands. "I have it!"

"Very good work!" Max applauded, and faced Sally again. "What a foolish mistake to make!"

Sally just held out her hands.

"Behold!" She said; her voice low and weak. "His Last Work, His Loyalty made Manifest, his Body and Soul. The Spear of Rhadamanthus. My New Covenant with a New Source."

And St. John howled as the weapon in his hands burned like molten steel and turned into a lance of white light. His back turned, the Iron King never even saw it coming. He didn't even feel it. One moment, Sally's hands were empty, and then something flashed and appeared in them, that damnable Spear! He tried to move, but something was wrong. Something was...

He looked down, and saw a hole the size of his fist, or larger, in the middle of his chest. Sparks were falling from severed wires, and bits of machinery and electronics clattered and fell. His left arm could move a little, but his right seemed to be stuck making the same small motion over and over.

"My King!" St. John yelled from behind him.

"No. Enough…" Max replied, his voice working at least. "I wish this to end."

Yes. This was the ending from before, wasn't it?

But different! He would change it! When he died, the Kingdom's most potent chemical weapon would fill the Palace in seconds, killing everyone. He was the Great King, and Last King! It would all end with him, as was foretold!

'Even in death, I shall strike down those who have wronged me!'

His sword arm wavered. "Foolish daughter…"

And in that instant, she moved. There was no rustle of soft silks. Sally rushed forward with her weapon, and the great blade of it pierced him cleanly and easily. A little higher, and it finished the work, cutting what passed for his heart, and preventing any circulation of essential fluids throughout his damaged body.

"Daddy…" Sally whispered into his ear, her voice soft and sweet. His vision faded and his mind slowed, but he knew that voice. It was his little girl, calling him from the garden, where she had been picking flowers with her mother. Sally's lips moved as she said her last words, for him alone, and then she stepped back.

King Max fell forward and stopped moving.

The red glow around the Sword of Acorns died with its master.

"It's finally over," Sally announced, facing Elias, Antoine and the still shell shocked St. John. "Sonic needs medical attention. Call a doctor for him."

"My King…" St. John stared down at his burned hands.

"Geoffrey!" Sally yelled. "Call a doctor. Now."

"The King is dead... Long live… the King." St. John repeated the mantra, his face contorted in grief and loss and confusion. Wearily he tapped the headset he wore; silently thankful he had not carried out that one order from his now departed supreme monarch. To ask such a thing was impossible. Geoffrey St. John was, above all the laws of heaven and mobius, loyal to the Golden Throne. For there to be a Kingdom, there had to be a King!

"This is St. John. We need a medical team to the Throne Room. ASAP."

"All forces loyal to the Throne will stand down," Sally then said.

"Additionally," St. John continued. "All Secret Service, Royal Guard, and Homeguard units are to stand down. Repeat: Drop your weapons and stand down."

"Good." Sally let out a deep sigh, and collapsed to the floor.

* * *

"Stay back, damn it!" Charmy cursed, and more stingers shot out from his hand. Knuckles ducked and dodged between and around them. Looking into his eyes, the bee Prince quailed, despite his new powers. 

"Alright, damn it! You want to die?" He suddenly stopped, and slammed his palm to the wall. "I'll kill you ALL!"

Knuckles barely moved in time. More stingers erupted from the walls and floor, by tens and then almost a hundred, covering every direction. Knuckles felt one cut his leg, and another his forehead, as he flipped and jumped away from the wall to escape. The spikes followed, however, retreating into the wall and then appearing somewhere else. Knuckles ran past two Xialjyet elites who had been firing at Julie and her commandos, and they were almost instantly impaled in a dozen ways.

Before the spikes could retreat back into the ground, Knuckles counter attacked, sweeping his arms out. A handful of the spikes broke, and Knuckles grabbed them, ran to the side, and threw them like javelins. Charmy had to pull his hand back to defend himself, and he did so by forming a shield of spines out of his hand to block the projectiles.

"Poison…" Knuckles hissed to himself, feeling the effects from multiple wounds and multiple doses. He was tough to start with, but his experience in Haven had made him all but invincible. Or so he thought. Charmy's poison was testing even his resistance, and he could feel the burning sensation all throughout his body.

He flew through the air, and again tried to catch Charmy in close combat. The Princes' shield retracted into his gloved hand, and he again ducked out of the way of one of Knuckles' blows. Knuckles struck again and again, but Charmy was always a step ahead, and he counter attacked with his hand, or with his regular stinger, aiming for a killing blow.

Then, in an action half insane, half brilliant, he let Charmy hit him.

The Bee Prince smirked in triumph, and Knuckles felt the pinpricks from his stingers. There was a thump, as shot not just poison, but chaos energy, into his body. But Knuckles, unlike Mighty, had braced himself. He grabbed Charmy by the wrist and shoulder.

"You damned fool… are you going to die on your feet?" Charmy snarled, trying to pull himself free.

"You… have something… I want…" Knuckles pulled his arms back and apart, and Charmy howled in pain. His elbow started to bend, and stretch, in unnatural ways, and then, with a tearing sound, Knuckles fell backwards.

The Prince of Goldenhive's right hand and forearm in his grip.

Knuckles laughed in victory, and held up the twitching appendage. He shook it, and a small topaz gem fell out of the palm and onto the floor. Knuckles threw aside the arm, and snatched up the Chaos Emerald, his vision starting to fade and his body go numb.

"NOOO!" Charmy jumped over the railing after him.

"YES!" Knuckles yelled, and jammed the emerald into his forehead. It was hard and painful, and when Charmy got too close, he backhanded him with a loud crack. Knuckles started feel it, the power… only… only something was wrong. It wasn't like before. This wasn't the Master Emerald's Energy, or that of one of the Super Emeralds. What was this?

Why did it BURN!

Knuckles roared as smoke rose from every pore in his body.

Charmy barely saw him. His neck was broken, and he couldn't move. Miles… Tails… hasn't told him that Knuckles would be this powerful. Hadn't told him that Knuckles knew about the Emeralds, and how they were used. Everything was so quiet. His head lolled to the side so he was looking outside, and he saw Echidnapolis burning.

Did I do that?

No. No. He hadn't. It wasn't burning. That wasn't fire. It was white, and brilliant, and beautiful, and warm, and rising like a thunderhead. He felt himself drawn towards it, towards the tornado, and he closed his eyes. Oh, he thought, at the very last.

Here was true peace…

* * *

Cream and Lara paused in their fight, and looked up at the sky. The former looked confused, even afraid, but the latter smiled sadly. She knew what it meant, and that was nothing truly worthy of celebration. The ceremony was complete. The Sacrifice was ready. 

It manifested first as an arch of white and silver, and then another, and then another. Then, the arches detached from wherever they had been grounded, and rose, higher and higher, splitting apart and becoming more delicate in appearance. The tornado of souls, the collected chaos energies of thousands of freshly slain, rose higher into the air. They came there to swirl and dance, like feathers finding their place on the wing of a titanic seabird.

It was terrible and beautiful, and it brought tears to her eyes.

Beneath her feet, the ground began to tremble.

Wreckage flew though the air, forming great wreaths in the sky for the dead. The wings dipped, lower, and Lara could feel the wind on her face as if they were real and tangible things. When it rose, there was a body attached, the curve of a back at first, and then more. White robes and gold amulets hanging from slender wrists rose penitently to the sky. The beginnings of an echidna, pink locks and blue eyes, a body as tall as a city's radius, blocking out the sky.

Even though who would not see the chaos energy, those not attuned to it, stopped what they were doing and gazed upwards. The darkness and the clouds retreated, leaving an open sky, and a brightly shining sun, that bathed everything in ethereal and unexplainable warmth. Soldiers gazed up, and even Xialjyet warriors averted their eyes to the heavens.

Aurora's arms reached up, her hands seemed to straddle and encircle the sun.

Lara strained, and saw a dot against the outline of that far off star. She couldn't quite see it, but she knew what it was. The Master Emerald was held aloft, a mile above the so called Angel Island. It pulsed, angrily, released from containment, and finally realizing what was happening around it. A distant voice thundered with rage and hatred, but it was too late.

Aurora never said a word.

Her wings flapped one last time, and then they began to envelop her. Lara reached up, wanting to feel her, to be closer to that tranquility and bottomless being. Aurora's arms lowered, the Master Emerald cupped within them, until they disappeared behind her closed wings. There was a distant building up, of something titanic and immeasurable.

And then, she was gone.

And the Floating Island Fell.

* * *

Dingo New Territories 

He walked past them, unseen and unchallenged. He had watched, discretely, as she had struggled, and felt terrible for not being there for her. Her pain was, after all, his fault. For days, he had weighed his options, and ran theories through his head.

He still didn't know what to do.

So much else had fallen into place. The Master Emerald had been purified, at the cost of thousands of lives, leaving his hands dirty for orchestrating the event. He had betrayed Charmy, and lured him to his death in the process, but he had been successful in also cleansing Knuckles of the taint he had picked up in Haven. His own emerald had burned most of the chao from the former Guardian's body, but Knuckles remained a divided piece, caught between his and The Devourer's influences.

Sonic had his powers back, and Sally had her Kingdom, splintered and at war with itself as it was. Unlike Lara and even Fiona, he could not directly sense or influence either of them, and that near freedom they had filled him with a measure of pride. His other projects continued apace, and though the world was still caught up in the fires of war, it was a fight between mortals, with mortal aims.

That would do.

Then, at the last, there was… this. There were guards stationed around the facility, but really, they were useless. He had walked past them, without them batting an eye, and if he could do it, so could his enemies. He found himself in the room where other males were sent to wait, looking through the glass at the two bundles that stood out among their dingo peers. But when they left to be with their wives, he remained behind.

"I've created many things over the years, did you know that? Weapons and ships and marvels of technology," he said, putting his hand up to the glass. "And then there's life. You two. I helped create life."

'Forget them,' Merlin had said. 'Forget them, or kill them. One day, they will be a liability. Even now, they stand in the way of your resolve, even now they make you waver and divide your thoughts.'

Miles rested his forehead against the glass.

'You, my protégé, have killed so many. With your weapons, with your wars, with your cause, and with your hands. This is what your future holds. We three are Gods of Death. Not Life.'

"I wasn't there to protect you or her," he muttered, his eyes closed. He'd been regenerating at the time, recovering from having his body destroyed. Merlin hadn't told him, hadn't shown him, until after Ysbadadden's emerald had been removed. In Merlin's thinking, in Mogul's, children would die and turn to dust, and you would outlive even your descendants. What was the point of them, then?

"What a lovely expression you have, little brother."

Miles's eyes moved, slowly, to take in the face of who had spoken. The speaker sat in one of the waiting room chairs, his legs crossed. He was large, with the face of a serpent, or in this case: a dragon. His scales were a hundred shades of jade, but his eyes, angular and mocking beneath heavy horned brows, were the color of burnished gold. Curving crescent horns rose up from the sides of his face, and he smiled like a shark.

"I'm sorry. Am I bothering you?" he asked, in a voice that sounded like he came from the depths of a cavern.

"This is only a fragment of myself," Miles went back to looking at the two babes on the other side of the glass. "I wouldn't come here in person."

"I imagine Merlin would never allow that," The Devourer said from behind. "It's far too obvious and easy. This body is just a fragment, as well. Barely a handful of chao I detached and ordered into this form."

He snickered, and stood next to the kitsune fox.

"I had a child once, you know. He died, of course. They do so tend to do that…"

Miles repressed a snarl. "Are you here to threaten me?"

"I am curious: what would you do if I came for them?" he asked, and a second later answered. "I suspect you'd rush your real self out of hiding before you let them die."

Miles didn't dignify his nemesis with a response.

"I don't want that yet," The Devourer continued, and then he turned and walked away. "I want there to be more suffering, first. I want it to be something special, and horrible, so that I may reflect on it centuries from now with the utmost fondness."

"I'll destroy you. Like I did the Master Emerald." Miles didn't face him, didn't turn around; didn't even know if he was still there listening.

"I'll destroy you, Merlin, and myself." He clenched his fists. "I don't know how, but my gift to these two… will be a world without Gods. I swear it! I swear it!"

* * *

.

* * *

And there it is. The formal End of The Cycle of Ages: New World Order. 

I would not like to say a few words. First, is that there will be a small side story, detailing the events that occur between the kitsune and humans, which takes place around the end of NWO, and lead into the third and final book. Also in this fic will be "newslets" and snippets detailing the post-NWO characters and world. So more will be coming, to provide additional closure. This fic's multiple climaxes made it run long to begin with, thus the need for an extra chapter.

Additionally, I would like to thank all those who read and reviewed and sent me emails of comments, criticism and encouragement. Especially my friend chicobo, who was always available for COA related discussions. I also have picked up general ideas from other books and shows. And of course, my old favorite NGE (aka Eva) provided some very nice imagery to aim for, like the summoning of Aurora (which I based off of Rei-Lillith). Hell, I even found, finally, something from Naruto to use (Charmy's ability; before that, believe it or not, I found that series rather barren land for inspiration).

New World Order has been a lot of work, and it is amazing to look back and see it all done! So:

Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoyed the second book of the Cycle of Ages! Universe information (aka "fluff") on all things related to COA, from weapons to ships to army organization to characters to history can also be found on my website's CCC (Comprehensive Cast of Characters) / COA Bible.

- Capn Chryssalid


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